


Touch Your Fire

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I'm Bad At Tagging, My First Smut, Post-War, Speed Dating, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: When Hermione's relationship with Ron fizzles out after the war, she decides to take matters into her own hands and hosts a speed-dating night for single Hogwarts alumni. The rules are clear: each person who attends gets five minutes and two potions to help them win a date with another participant. What happens when Hermione ends up in over her head with a smooth-talking Slytherin before she returns to Hogwarts? Written for Strictly Dramione’s Summer Love Fest.





	1. Lonely Hearts Club

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to my fic. I had a lot of fun writing this, but I'm really nervous to share it with you all. Not only is it my first completed multi-chap, but it also contains my first published smut scene (fic rated E to cover my bases). I have combed through this for Britishisms, but I am American, and sometimes things slip through as this has not been beta read. I apologize in advance, but I do hope you enjoy. Reviews are love, and I always appreciate constructive criticism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! TheOtterAndTheDragon deserves endless love for her tireless beta work on this project. Seriously, she read it over in just a couple of days and caught so much. Without her, this would not be nearly as polished. She's a gem to work with. Please let me know what you think!

Hermione Granger had overestimated Ronald Weasley’s emotional capacity when she compared it to a teaspoon. She groaned and threw down the Daily Prophet, on which photos of Ron with a beautiful, leggy blonde were splashed across the cover. She wasn’t going to begrudge Ron his happiness, but did he have to have his successful love life splashed all over the covers of every gossip rag in the wizarding world?

Ron’s propensity for publicity was what had driven a wedge between them in their relationship. She wanted a quiet, peaceful relationship, but Ron had been keener to drag them out to meet the photographers that had followed them everywhere they went. Not her cup of tea.

With a sigh, Hermione stood from her chair and stretched, hands high over her head. Though it was a Saturday morning, she always got a head start on her day. As her mother always said, the early bird got the worm, and Hermione was determined to catch every opportunity she could. She bent down to retrieve the lukewarm cup of coffee that rested beside the discarded newspaper when the Floo roared to life behind her and startled her into dropping the mug onto her big toe.

“Ow, fucking hell. Bugger,” Hermione groaned, examining her toe to ensure that nothing was broken. Her disturber chuckled behind her, leaning down to pick up the mug from where it rolled under the chair. Despite the years since the war, Hermione’s heart sped into overdrive when she realized it was Harry that had interrupted her early morning.

“Harry, what in Merlin’s name are you doing over at six in the morning? Is everything okay? Do you need help—”

Harry stopped her by forcefully shoving the mug into her hand, summoning the coffee pot and another mug, and refilling both their cups. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything is just—” he sighed, dropping his head to the back of the couch he’d plopped on. “Fine.”

Though Hermione had been wallowing in her own woes this morning, she instantly switched into go-getter mode. If she were upset, she’d sweep it under the rug to deal with later. If Harry was upset, she could fix that. She’d always been good at fixing other people’s problems. Fixing her own required her to first face her problems and then deal with them. Not gonna happen this morning. 

She sat up in her chair, placing the mug to the side once more. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

Harry grimaced, wiping a hand over his face. “Ginny broke it off.”

“She what?!” Hermione nearly screeched, causing Harry to glare at her. Though her flat wasn’t a shoebox, it wasn’t nearly big enough to accommodate such shouting, especially so early in the morning.

He cleared his throat. “We’ve been on the rocks for a while. I didn’t want to bother anyone with it.” He shrugged. “It just seemed like one of those things that we could work through. I didn’t realize that those weeks of her sleeping on the couch would actually be the end of us.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Harry kept going. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t healthy, but I didn’t know what to do! It’s not like I’ve got great examples. The Dursleys were nightmares; Molly and Arthur are great, but I haven’t been around them for any longer than a few months on holiday; and you and Ron—” Harry screeched to a halt, instantly recognizing his mistake.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. “And Ron and I ended in an implosion of epic proportions, complete with me quite literally sending him out the door on his arse.” Hermione looked up at Harry from beneath her lashes, bursting into laughter as they both remembered the Final Fight, as they’d termed it.

_For their anniversary, Ron had made plans to take Hermione to a fancy new French restaurant in Diagon Alley that Fleur had opened to supplement Bill’s income and curb her boredom. She’d dressed in a beautiful deep purple gown that had complemented her skin tone and brought out her eyes, and she’d even let Ginny tame her curls into a low chignon. Ginny completed the look with a subtle smoky eye and dangly silver earrings. She had stared at her reflection in the mirror, dumbfounded and barely recognizing herself and shook herself out of it when she heard Ron calling for them to leave._

_Ron apparated them to the opposite end of Diagon Alley, forcing the couple to walk through the streets in their evening wear, much to Hermione’s displeasure. The press, however, loved it. Hermione gripped Ron’s hand tighter, practically dragging him down the alley as he hammed it up for the photographers while she tried to smother her irritation. It was, after all, just like Ron. Outside the restaurant, he pulled her back and lowered her into a dramatic dip, kissing her rather intimately. Hermione pulled out of his embrace, nearly falling to the concrete, and marched in to demand the maître d seat them immediately at their reserved table._

_Ron, true to form, asked for a table near the giant plate windows instead of a romantic, secluded table near the back. After a dinner of Ron’s ego being stroked by photographers and Hermione downing glass after glass of expensive chardonnay that did nothing to calm her anger and everything to stoke the simmering rage in her stomach, Hermione apparated them back to the flat. Though they had both talked about returning to Hogwarts after the war, they’d decided against it; they each took their NEWTs and moved in together. As Hermione slammed her clutch down on their kitchen table, Ron cleared his throat and said, “Well, I think I’ll just head to bed.”_

Hermione had lost her wits at that and launched into a tirade. She still couldn’t remember everything she’d said in her blind rage, but she distinctly remembered Ron forcing out a Patronus to summon Harry to come play referee. Harry had, of course, been late to help out and had only stepped through the Floo as Hermione had cast a Levicorpus at Ron and launched him out the front door. With a flick of her wand, she’d transfigured an old blanket into a box, and all of Ron’s belongings had zipped into it and followed him out the door.

Harry was guffawing as he tried to speak. “Do— do you remember the look on his face when the door slammed shut?”

“Like I had told him his mother’s food tasted like ash and I was actually a hippogriff masquerading as a woman?” Hermione dissolved into giggles. “I remember it quite clearly.” She reached for her cup and took a sip as Harry’s laughter subsided. Silence reigned for a few minutes before Hermione said, “So, what happened?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I asked her what was wrong, why she’s been sleeping on the couch. She said she wasn’t happy anymore.”

“She hasn’t seemed off lately, though,” Hermione mused.

“Yeah, but you know Ginny. She’s good at hiding how she feels unless she wants you to know. Out of all of us, she was definitely most likely to end up in Slytherin.” Harry toyed with the rim of the coffee mug, staring into it pensively. “The spark was gone, if it was ever there after the war. I think—” he stopped and took a breath. “I think I’ve known for a while that this was coming. That’s why I didn’t ask her about it. I didn’t want to know.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” Hermione whispered softly. Harry looked up and nodded slightly, a pained smile on his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He shook his head wistfully. Hermione couldn’t help the pang she felt. She’d always thought Ginny and Harry were It. He’d loved her so fiercely when they were kids that she thought that they would be together forever. “So, we fought for a bit, and she accused me of being daft and told me to Floo her when I figure out what I really want.”

Hermione nodded a bit. “It could have been worse.”

Harry grimaced and pointedly avoided her eyes.

At that, Hermione’s brows rose. “It was worse?”

“It— we—” Harry trailed off. “I’m not sure that I should tell you this, Hermione.”

She shrugged, draining the rest of the coffee in her mug. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” She stood from her chair, going to the kitchen to rinse out the mug.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you; I just don’t want you to think badly of Ginny or me. Besides, we both made the decision.”

She set the mug down on the countertop and turned slowly to face Harry. He was leaning on the opposite side of her breakfast bar, chin in his hands and studiously avoiding her gaze by examining the tiled backsplash. With one big gust, he said, “GinnywantedtobringanotherwomanintothebedroomtospicethingsupandIsaidno.”

Hermione took a moment to process what Harry said then started giggling. Harry’s head snapped up, and his jaw dropped. “This— it’s not funny! This is a very serious situation, and… and I wasn’t’ comfortable with another woman in the room! I mean, it’s Ginny! I didn’t think she’d ever want to have someone else there! And…”

“Harry, I think you are one of the only males in this entire world who would turn down a threesome with two women. Ginny is one of the most adventurous people I know. Don’t you think that would also extend to the bedroom?”

The tips of Harry’s ears turned pink as he spluttered, “Well no, I obviously did not.”

Hermione smiled affectionately. “Oh, Harry.” She placed the mug in the sink. “Do you think it’ll work out?”

“See, that’s the thing,” he said slowly. “I’m not sure there’s anything to work out.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that, so she waited.

“See, I thought I’d be upset. You remember how I was when she dated Dean and all those guys at Hogwarts.” Hermione nodded, and he continued. “It’s just that, this time, I’m almost relieved. Like there was a weight on my chest, and I’ve finally gotten it off. I shouldn’t feel relieved to be broken up, should I?”

Hermione shrugged. “That’s up to you to decide. How does Ginny feel about it?”

Harry laughed. “Well, apparently she’s had a thing for one of the players for the Holyhead Harpies, and she met her at a pub when she was out with George last weekend. I guess they hit it off and the woman asked her on a date. She didn’t say yes at the time, but they exchanged information and have been owling back and forth since. I guess Ginny talked to her after we called things off, and she said she was going to go on a date with her if I was okay with it. Strangely, I am.” He looked up at Hermione. “I’m sad it didn’t work out, relieved for it to be over, and happy for her. Does that make me a bad person?”

“Not at all. It makes you an emotionally mature adult,” Hermione answered. “Look how much you’ve grown! At Hogwarts, you would have been silently brooding over it all the time.”

He grinned at her and came around the corner, embracing her. “And you would have killed me for making a cheap shot at your failed romance with Ron.”

Hermione pinched his side, and he danced away from her, chuckling. “Watch yourself, Potter. It’s still a possibility.”

Harry looked contrite. “I am sorry for saying that. It wasn’t fair. Besides, you already get enough hell about it with his escapades plastered all over the newspapers."

Hermione turned away, once more back to the frame of mind she had been in before Harry had unceremoniously interrupted her morning. She tried not to dwell on her former relationship with Ron often. It wasn’t like they were on bad terms; after a month of ignoring each other, Ron had apologized for being a prat, and they were once again friends. They worked better that way. That didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel a little burned about his quick rebound sometimes.

“You know what you need?” Harry asked, following Hermione to the couch and plopping down on it. Hermione bit her lip to refrain from chastising him when he kicked his heels up onto her—very recently cleaned—coffee table.

“No, Harry, I don’t know what I need,” she sighed.

She could see Harry’s devious grin spread across his cheeks from the corner of her eye. “You need a night out. Come to the pub with me and the guys!”

“I don’t know, Harry.” She worried the arm of the couch beside her. “You know that I’ve been trying to avoid the public as much as I can. Skeeter is still gunning to get me into an interview about the breakup. Even threatening her with the jar isn’t working this time.”

Harry’s brow arched. “Wow, that serious, huh?”

“That serious.” She nodded. “There’s not much I can control about how Ron is depicted in the papers, but I can control what they say about me. I’d prefer not to have my drunken escapades splashed all over the cover of the  _Prophet_  for everyone to see. I can just see the headline now: ‘Heartbroken Heroine turns to Hedonistic Lifestyle!’ No, thank you.”

“Understandable. So, what’s the plan?”

She gnawed at her lip, torn with her answer. She enjoyed her job at the Ministry; she worked as the Dragon Unit liaison and was currently working on some legislation to curb potentially dangerous methods of gathering dragon horns from live dragons. She went to work and came home fulfilled but exhausted every day, but something was still missing from her routine. Since Crookshanks had passed away, her flat felt too large and lonely, but she’d been reluctant to try again after Ron burned her.

“I’ve been thinking about dating again,” she started. She tacked on a hasty “casually!” when Harry leaned forward with interest.

“Ooh, have you?” Harry asked. “Hold on, let me get this right.” He leaned back on the couch and screwed up his face comically.

Hermione burst into laughter. “Harry, what on Earth are you doing?”

He held up a finger at her as he adjusted his posture and crossed one leg over the other. “There. I’m channelling my inner Ginny, so you feel more comfortable talking to me about dating. Would it help if I pursed my lips into a sultry pout or am I good like this?” He batted his eyelashes at her but ducked when Hermione whacked him with a pillow.

“Alright, alright! I’m done,” he sputtered out between laughs. “It’s just that you’ve never really talked to me about dating before, so I didn’t know what to do!”

Hermione chuckled. “While I appreciate the effort, you can sit like a normal human being and just listen to me.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he sighed as he uncrossed his legs and resumed his slouched position. “I don’t know how you guys sit like that all the time. I think I squashed something.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I’m still friends with you,” Hermione sighed. “Yes, I’m going to start dating again. It’s just—” she stopped, unsure how to phrase what she’d been mulling over the last couple of weeks.

“It’s just?” Harry prompted.

“I just don’t know how to date people. My limited dating experience stems solely from Hogwarts, and it’s not like I can really say I dated anyone there. Viktor pursued me, and Ron and I just kind of fell together.” She paused again. “I also don’t want to date just any stranger. I’d like to date someone that I have something in common with, you know?”

Harry nodded while Hermione ploughed onward. “I mean, we went through a war, for Merlin’s sake! And I know everyone in the Wizarding World went through the same war, but it’s a little different for those of us that actually fought in the war.”

“So, let me get this straight. You want to date someone who went through the war and is equally as messed up as you are, so you can both what? Relive the trauma of war together?” Harry’s brows were slanted downward.

Hermione scoffed. “No, Harry. I want to date someone who understands what it’s like to go through a war and be forever changed by it, so they don’t freak out if I have a hard time committing right away.”

She shrugged. It all seemed very logical to her. She and Ron had worked together for a while because they already knew everything about each other. She knew that Ron perpetually missed the hamper with his dirty clothes. She knew that he would rather allow himself to air dry after a shower than towel off. She also knew that he preferred both butter and blackberry jam on his toast in the mornings, and he always “accidentally” burned their bacon because he liked his charred.

What she didn’t know at the time was that she needed someone that she could talk through the war with. Ron swept everything under the rug; he tried to move on as soon as possible and put everything in the past. He’d mourned for Fred, of course, but even that was a removed mourning that she could have no part in. He built up walls around himself, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of reliving the horrors they witnessed. For Ron, thinking of the war automatically made him think of all the loved ones that had been ripped from them. He saw each of their faces and mourned them all over again. He wouldn’t allow her to talk him through the nights that he woke up with a start and reached for his wand. Instead, he’d get out of bed and nurse the ache with a finger or two of whiskey.

Hermione, however, needed someone that understood both the trauma of the war and her deep-seated need to talk it out. There were so many things that she needed to talk about, but she’d been denied that opportunity by Ron. Five years post-Battle of Hogwarts, and she still couldn’t sleep through the night sometimes. She still cringed away from women with manes of unruly black curls on the street. She needed someone who would help her heal, and in doing so, help themselves heal by talking about their own problems.

She could also use someone who knew what they were doing in the sack and who wasn’t satisfied with chasing their own release and leaving her wanting.

Harry forced her attention back to him. “Well, it’s not like we can get all of us single, war-ravaged young adults into a room to figure out who works best with who like some lonely hearts club meeting.” Harry shrugged, but the statement reverberated in Hermione’s head. “Besides, there’s not many people who are exactly willing to revisit the war, Hermione. The five-year anniversary is coming up, so I’m sure Hogwarts will have something to commemorate the losses, but—"

Hermione started to tune Harry out, her mind going a mile a minute. She shot up and began pacing around the room, desperate to move to keep up with her racing thoughts. Harry had fallen silent as he watched her pace, bewilderment causing him to cock his head to one side.

Hermione spun around to face him, placing her hands on her hips. “That’s just it, though! We  _can_ get everyone in a room together to see who works best together. Or, at least, we can  _try_ to get everyone in a room together.” She crossed the room and slumped down on the couch beside Harry, summoning a quill and parchment. She began to frantically scribble across the page.

“I’m not sure I follow.” Harry peered over her shoulder. “Approximately ten chairs, a timer. Hermione, what are you planning?”

She shushed him and kept writing, peering off into space for a few moments before she resumed her frantic scribbles. After about ten minutes, during which Harry surveyed the books on her shelf, Hermione dropped her quill and surveyed the parchment. Harry’s voice called her over to her bookshelf.

“Hey, ‘Mione, what’s this?” Harry held up a tattered old shoebox.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she hurried over to him and snatched the shoebox out of his hand. “That is nothing of importance. Besides, I think I’ve got our answer figured out.” Satisfied with her handiwork and in an attempt to get the box back from Harry, she handed him the parchment she had been writing on.

“Hermione, these look like overly complicated instructions for an odd game of Truth or Dare, only without the dare.” Harry peered up at her, his cheeks reddening as Hermione burst out laughing.

“It’s not quite Truth or Dare, but it _is_ a game of sorts. Have you ever heard of speed dating?” Hermione looked at Harry out of the corner of her eye. Upon his confused expression, she held up a finger and flipped the parchment. On the parchment, she made a crude sketch of five pairs of chairs facing each other in two lines. On one side, she wrote “women” and on the other “men.” From the men’s side, she drew an arrow going right.

“Okay,” she said, dropping the quill. “During speed dating, the group is split into men and women. Men get one side, and women get the other. They each sit in a chair, and a timer is started for five minutes. During those five minutes, the partners can talk about anything they want, or they can use pre-written questions that each person submits when they register, and those questions are placed with each chair.” She looked up at Harry. “Are you following me so far?”

“I  _think_ so,” he responded.

She nodded. “Alright, so the goal of speed dating is to find someone that you’re interested in going on a longer date with. Each person has the option to write their information down for the other person and give it to them during their date to set up a time to meet once they return home from the speed dating round, or they can both acknowledge their mutual interest in pursuing a second date and agree to talk after each person has talked with all the other speed daters.”

Harry blinked at Hermione. “So, this is basically a really easy way to date around?”

Hermione grimaced. “I guess if you want to think of it that way. I think of it as more of a test drive. If you don’t feel anything during the five minutes designated to find a connection, then I don’t think you would have much chemistry on another date.”   

“And you think anyone is actually going to go for this?” Harry asked and promptly winced at Hermione’s affronted look.

“Of course they will! They’ll just need proper motivation, is all.” Hermione picked up her quill again, tapping the end against her lip. Harry didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was getting ink all over herself. “We just need to talk it up, is all. Make it sound really exciting.”

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, we can make posters: ‘Depressed War Survivor’s Speed Dating: Find Someone to Help Curb Your Desperate Loneliness.” He had to duck the pillow Hermione threw at him.

“I was thinking more along the lines of free food and drinks, but a poster that says something catchy and  _not rude_  wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. We could hang them up in the Leaky Cauldron and Three Broomsticks, plus any other businesses that will let us hang—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there,” Harry protested. “There is no  _we_  in this thing. There’s just you and an innocent bystander whose pitiful love life happened to give you the idea for this.” He stood up and began to back away from the couch.

Hermione, however, was not above pleading. “Harry, please. I know that this would help you feel better! A little fun never hurt anyone, anyway.”

Harry shook his head. “No way, Hermione. Planning is fun for you. You know what’s fun for me? Eating. And Quidditch. And doing anything other than interacting with random people for hours on end and pretending to have fun.”

“But Harry, if you think about it, I’m really doing this for you.” She pouted up at him from beneath her lashes. “I just don’t want you to be upset anymore. And there’s a bonus of helping other people, too!” She brightened. “You might even be able to add it to your community service section when you apply for the Auror Department after graduation next spring!”

Harry groaned, and Hermione cheered internally as she saw him begin to waver.

“You don’t think ‘taking down the biggest, baddest Dark Lord in wizarding history’ counts as enough community service?” Harry sighed.

With a grin, Hermione answered, “Well, it could count as enough community service if you were content on getting by with your name alone.” She looked up and caught his eye. “You’re a lot of things, Harry Potter, but I know you’re not content with getting by on what you were made to do to end the war.”

Harry sighed and reluctantly crossed back to the couch. “Fine.” He picked up Hermione’s sketch and glanced over the rules once more. “But I get the final say on who we accept and who we reject. This is  _only_ including people that we know from Hogwarts. Not any of the random witches and wizards who will likely apply because they know our names from  _The Daily Prophet._ ”

Hermione nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. So, are you in?”

With a glance skyward and a long suffering sigh, Harry plopped down onto the chair cross from Hermione. “I’m in.”

“Then let’s get to work. We’ve got lots of planning to do!” Hermione grinned at Harry, who dropped his face in his palms with a grimace.

 

Three hours later, Harry groaned across from Hermione and dropped both his quill and his head onto her dining room table. They’d spent the better part of the last few hours going over ideas for promoting their speed dating event and designing flyers. Harry had been a good friend about it, working through the early morning with her even though he obviously had other things he wanted to get done. She was proud of their work, though, and she followed his suit. She capped her ink and leaned back in her chair to survey the work.

Most of their ideas stemmed from keeping the event inclusive to previous Hogwarts students in their year and the year below them. Hermione didn’t know too many people outside of those years, and she didn’t want to deal with a large group of people should too many others decide that they wanted to have an opportunity to get close to The Boy Who Lived.

“Well,” she stretched through a yawn. “I think we’ve got almost everything we need.” She double checked her checklist. They’d booked a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the following weekend, and Harry had owled Minister Shacklebolt to ensure they could hang their posters about the Ministry so long as they were tasteful, and, with Hermione at the helm of the project, they were sure to be classy and discreet. “It looks like the only thing that we have left to figure out is a name.”

Harry groaned. “I’ve been trying to think of one for the last three hours, Hermione. I’ve got nothing.”

Hermione was in the same boat. She didn’t want to just plaster Speed Dating across the poster; that seemed classless.

Harry perked up across from her with a mischievous grin. “The best I’ve got is “Winner, Winner, You Have to Buy Me Dinner.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Absolutely not. We’ve got to come up with  _something_  that doesn’t sound like a bunch of fourth years came up with it while playing Spin the Bottle.”

Hermione turned to the books lining the shelves of her living room; though she didn’t pick any of them up, she hoped just staring at their spines would give her inspiration. Books had never failed her before.

Her eyes skipped across the titles of each book.  _Hogwarts: A History_ ,  _Moste Potente Potions_ , and  _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ jumped out at her, but none of them seemed to inspire her. It was only when she skimmed across the books at the bottom of the case—the ones she’d never read twice but couldn’t bear to throw out—that inspiration struck in the form of Gilderoy Lockhart’s obnoxiously perfect smile.

“Harry, what about Magical Matches?”

His brow furrowed as he thought it over. “Like the Lockhart book?”

“Not like the Lockhart book. The name of the event is just… heavily inspired by the name of his book,” she defended.

“Hermione, this isn’t some misguided tribute to your second-year crush is it?”

Though Hermione knew he was teasing, she took the bait anyway. “No, Harry, this isn’t a tribute to Lockhart. It’s just catchy. I think it’ll make people look twice!”

He mulled it over for a bit. “Yeah, you might be right. So, is the magical bit just because we’re all wizards and witches or will we add some kind of magic to it?”

She snapped her fingers. “What if we included a courage potion with registration? I’ve been working on something for the dragon tamers that I think might help! Then it wouldn’t be nearly as nerve-wracking to be around so many of our former classmates with the intent of dating one of them.”

Harry nodded. “That might work, yeah. Is it patented yet?”

“Not…exactly. It’s still in the testing stages, but it seems to have worked flawlessly so far.” Hermione paused. “If we include that it’s an unpatented potion in the registration form, we should be in the clear. We’ll just have to be sure that all participants sign that they understand that the potion isn’t perfected yet and there might be side effects.”

“What kind of side effects are we talking about, Hermione? I don’t want to walk about the place with antlers sprouting out of my forehead or technicolour spots breaking out in places they shouldn’t be,” Harry said sceptically.

“The worst we’ve had is a bit of babbling so far. We’ve added peppermint to the brewing process of Felix Felicis, and something in the potion reacts with it to sometimes encourage them to say whatever they're thinking, though it shouldn’t be too bad if I watch the brew closely enough.” Hermione thought for a minute. “I’ll try the potion first, and if it doesn’t cause any negative side effects then we’ll give it to everyone else. If there are negative side effects, then we can just buy cheap dividers to keep people from seeing each other and bolting,” she offered.

Harry nodded and jotted down the notes as ideas continued to churn in Hermione’s mind. Though she wouldn’t normally suggest an unpatented potion, she knew she was  _thisclose_ to having it perfected. She really wouldn’t suggest something that she thought might hurt anyone else. And, though the courage potion was a good idea, she couldn’t help but wonder if she could come up with a potion that would help establish a baseline for compatibility.  Then everyone would be able to tell whether the match actually had a chance of working out. Though everyone told Hermione that the point of dating was the journey and falling in love, she couldn’t help but worry about pursuing someone that was ultimately wrong for her.

“Alright,” Harry said. “So, we’ve got a name, rules, and an idea of the participants. How soon do you think we can make this happen?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Give me two weeks. There’s something I need to work on.”


	2. A Little Meddling Never Hurt Anyone

The next day, the bell above Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes chimed as Hermione strode through the doors. Though her work day had been trying, she was sure that it was bound to look up soon. As she made her way to the front of the store, a loud bang caused her to duck behind a display of singing quills.

Cautiously, she peered over the display—all the quills singing God Save the Queen in varying pitches. A large plume of smoke issued from the back room of the shop, where she presumed George was testing products. Sure enough, as she resumed her trek back to the counter, George stumbled out of the back room, large splotches of ash all over his face.

“Hermione! Fancy seeing you around here. Anything I can help you with?” George crowed. He bustled around the counter and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and Hermione stifled the urge to wrinkle her nose at the smell of burnt hair that invaded her nostrils. George seemed to sense her apparent disgust and leaned away with a laugh.

“It’s good to see you, George. I actually do have a question, if you’ve got the time,” Hermione answered.

With a wink over his shoulder, George replied, “For you, Hermione, I’ve got nothing but time.” He spun on his heel and darted down the aisle from which she had come. Puzzled, she watched him flick his wand and clear the ash off himself and flip the sign on the door to closed. He bounded back towards her and grabbed her wrist, pulling her behind the counter and through the door into the back of the shop.

Verity, one of the other shop employees, was staring into the remnants of a smouldering cauldron. The girl threw a distracted wave at Hermione before she resumed vigorous note-taking over the cauldron.

George crossed the room and plopped onto the dilapidated leather sofa that Hermione suspected doubled as his bed, if the crumpled afghan on it was any indication. He scooted to the side and patted the cushion next to him. Hermione followed suit and sat down, albeit in a much more dignified fashion than George had.

“Alright, Ms. Granger,” George drawled with a waggle of his eyebrows. “What can I do for you?”

Hermione fidgeted, feeling a little foolish with herself. “I was actually hoping you could help me develop a potion for an event I’m putting on.”

George looked at her sceptically. “You want my help. Making a potion.” He leaned over and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Are you sure? This, coming from the girl who reported Fred’s and my products to Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts?”  

She couldn’t help but feel a little scolded. “That was a long time ago, George. And—” she interrupted his impending protest. “I only reported you because you were testing on first years! Those could have been dangerous!” 

“I’ll have you know that Fred and I tested all of our products on ourselves before we gave them to anyone else,” he said. Hermione barely stopped her exasperated sigh. “But, I guess that’s beside the point. I assume what you need now is important?”

Hermione bit her lip. Was it important? She supposed it was to some people. To her. But important to everyone else? Probably not. But who didn’t enjoy a little bit of light-hearted fun every now and then?

And if it helped her get a decent shag…

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t say it’s important in the ‘saving the world’ importance category, but it’s for an event that I’m holding. A dating event.” She felt a blush spread over her cheeks and down her chest. George’s amused grin told her that it had not gone unnoticed.

“So, you need my help creating a potion for a dating thing that you’ve created? Is this some strategy to get back at Ron for embarrassing you in front of the entire wizarding world?” George arched an eyebrow at her. “Not that I blame you, Hermione, but that seems a little out there, especially for you.”  

Hermione groaned. “That sounds a lot more nefarious than it actually is. I just— I’m trying to help others, so they’re not alone. It might be a little selfish—” she shot a glare at the grin that snaked across George’s face “—but it’s also to help people, too. You know, help them find love and connections, so they’re not dealing with the fallout of the war alone.”

            “Hermione, it’s been five years. Well, nearly five years. We’re moving on.” He looked at her incredulously. “I appreciate that you want to help others, but you can’t think that meddling in everyone’s love lives is seriously a good idea, right?”

Hermione scoffed and stood up. “I’m not doing this to meddle in everyone’s love life, George. I just think it’ll be something fun to take everyone’s mind off the anniversary coming up. And I need your help if I’m going to be able to do it properly.”

George tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch, then nodded once and patted the cushion next to him. “Alright, alright, I’m in! On one condition.” She crossed her arms and stared at him sceptically. “I want in. I want included in this date thingy. Free of charge, in exchange for my help. Besides, a little meddling never hurt anybody.”

“Famous last words.” Hermione levelled a stern frown at him, and he raised his hands in surrender. She smiled and clapped her hands. “Alright, here’s my plan.”

 

Hermione stared at George expectantly. She’d outlined the plan for the dating game for the Hogwarts alumni, and, amidst question after question from George about the logistics of the event, had finally reached the part where she needed his help. She leaned forward and balanced her elbows on her knees to keep herself from bouncing them up and down in anticipation.  

“Well, do you think you can help me?” she inquired.

George chewed on his lip. “So, what you’re needing is some kind of potion that helps determine compatibility between a witch and a wizard?”

Hermione shrugged. “More or less. I was hoping for something similar to Amortentia, but without having to ingest the potion and accidentally becoming crazy love-struck people towards our ‘one true love.’”

George stood from the chair and crossed over to a cluttered desk. After a few moments of digging through piles of marked up parchment, he extracted a clean roll, a quill, and a small pot of ink. Charming it to follow him, he crossed the room and plopped back down onto the couch beside Hermione and began to scribble notes.

“So, we’ve got approximately how long for each date?” he asked.

Hermione squinted. “Well, most of the time the dates last about three to ten minutes. Since we already know basic information about each other, we won’t have to worry about the awkward introductions that they normally include, so I was thinking about five minutes. Long enough to talk for a few minutes and determine if the couple wants to pursue a date outside of the event, but not so long that it becomes infeasible to continue on with all the dates.”

            “Practical as always,” George chuckled. “Alright, so it sounds like we can brew a cauldron of Amortentia and then find a way to isolate the fumes. Then, each person would be able to sniff the fumes at the beginning or end of the session and determine if what they smell matches their partner?”

“Do you think that would actually work?” Hermione inquired.

“Well, I don’t see why not. You’d just have to keep the actual process of it quiet so that no one tries to sway the results and come in smelling like something they normally wouldn’t. Instead of having the chairs right next to each other, you could have separate tables to avoid cross-contamination with scents. Then there would be no question whether or not the person that they’re partnered with is compatible with them.” George shrugged. “There are definitely more sophisticated ways to achieve the process, but this seems like the most effective way to go about it in such a limited time frame.”

 Hermione frowned, trying to work through her qualms with the idea. It wasn’t that it was a  _bad_ idea, but she just wasn’t sure if Amortentia was actually a good idea. The potion would smell like who you were actively in love with. Though she was reluctant to admit it, she was afraid the potion might still smell like Ron.

Fingers snapping in front of her face brought her out of her reverie. “You’re thinking too much, Hermione. What’s going on within the formerly bushy head of yours?”

She bit her lip, unsure how to answer George. She didn’t want him to try to play matchmaker to get her and Ron back together—that boat had sailed long ago, and she had no desire to try to reel it back in. As she warred with herself, her mother’s favourite saying came back to her: honesty is the best policy. She took a breath and looked back at George.

“Honestly?” she asked. At his nod, she went on. “I’m afraid that it might still smell like your brother. I don’t want to be with him anymore, but…” she trailed off and looked down at her hands.

“But sometimes he’s the first person you want to tell all the good things and the bad things to before you remember that you’re not together anymore?” George finished for her. He smiled at her crookedly, and Hermione was struck by how strong he was after suffering so much loss in such a short time. He’d lost Fred in the war; he and Angelina had broken up shortly after because he’d fallen into a depression that none of the Weasleys had been able to pull him out of; then he’d rebuilt Weasley Wizard Wheezes from the ground up. Only after he’d immersed himself in the shop with Ron for months did he finally start to seem like the old George.

Hermione hadn’t been close with him before the war, but she’d found herself becoming closer to him when she’d dropped by to see Ron on her lunch breaks. It was easy to talk to George when he was in the mood to talk. They both shared a bitter resentment for the war that had taken family from them.

She cleared her throat and looked up at him. “Yeah, that’s it exactly. Sometimes it’s like I forget that he used to be my best friend before we broke up. I want to tell him all these things, but I feel like I can’t because we ended on such a bad note. Does that make sense?”

He nodded and looked down quickly, but she couldn’t miss the flash of longing and loneliness in his eyes. Yes, George was strong, but he felt pain like any other. “I get that way about Angelina, which is ridiculous because we meet for lunch at least once a week or so. I don’t know, it just feels different. Like she wouldn’t want to hear that stuff because I was a git after we broke up.”

“Well, if it helps, Ron and I didn’t end on a great note. I quite literally kicked him out on his arse.” Hermione tried to hold back the laughter, but George’s gleeful guffaw made it slip forth.

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” George mused. He was silent a minute before he looked up at Hermione with a rare, serious expression. “I still love her, you know? I just got a little lost up here for a while.” He gestured to his head.

Hermione knew. Everyone did, and Angelina made no secret about the fact that she still loved George. Maybe this night was exactly what George needed to give him the courage to get her back. She tapped the quill against the parchment for a moment before she let a smile steal across her face. “Tell you what. You’re going to come, free of charge, in exchange for your help with the potions. And I’ll make sure Angelina is there.”

George looked conflicted. “I don’t know, Hermione. I don’t want to force her—”

“Stop it,” Hermione scolded, forcibly stopping herself from rolling her eyes. “You and I both know that no one is going to force her to be there. Use this chance and win back your woman.”

He sat there for a moment, staring into space before he nodded quickly. “Right. I’m gonna get her back! I mean, how can she resist all of this?” He pulled a puppy dog face and fluffed his hair theatrically. A mischievous grin lit up his features. “And you’re going to get a date too, Ms. Granger.” He waggled his brows at her.

“Well, that is the point of this whole thing, isn’t it?” Hermione grinned back at him.

“Ahh, it is, but you’re not going to get just any old date. You’re going to find a date with someone that you wouldn’t go for normally.” George corrected.

She grimaced, unable to think of anything but the last time she’d dated someone unexpectedly and spent the whole of Slughorn’s Christmas party running from him. “I don’t know, George. It’s hard enough to date someone that I know from Hogwarts, what with the whole being Harry’s best friend’s ex-girlfriend. Most people won’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.” She slouched down in her seat and glared at the parchment.

“What if I can promise you that you’ll have a good selection of eligible bachelors to choose from?” George goaded. “Come on, Hermione, you at least have to try.”

She stared up at him, unsure what he was insinuating. Still, she did want to try dating again, and not every date could end in magical fireworks and a bloody fantastic shag. She closed her eyes and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but alright.” George whooped and swept her up into a hug, spinning her around. Her eyes snapped open when he sat her down, and she pointed a finger into his nose. “No trying to get your brother and me back together, though.”

George laughed and saluted her. “Yes, ma’am. What’s that the Muggles say, scout’s honour?”

“That’s the boy scouts, but yes. Do we have a deal?”

“Oh, we have a deal, alright.” He waggled his brows at her then clapped. “So, let’s get started on this potion! I’ve already got a brew of Amortentia together to study its effects for a product, so that shouldn’t be too difficult to capture. You just research a way to capture the steam, and I’ll get started on the Felix variant. Do you want to keep the luck properties?”

“I don’t think so, at least not entirely. I don’t want these matches to be made artificially. If you think there’s a way to isolate the different properties to maybe balance the luck and the confidence, then I think that would be the best route. We should also limit its effects somehow to within the hour.” She pulled a worn piece of parchment from her back pocket and handed it to George. “This is what we’re working with for the dragon trainers. Do you think you can use this as a base for starting?”

He took a moment to study the parchment before he nodded. “Hmm, I do love a good product challenge, but I think I can work with this. As for limiting the length of time it’s effective, you might just recommend that everyone take smaller sips or only give out a little. Leave it in their hands how much they want to ingest since it isn’t exactly approved yet by the ministry.

“That’s a good idea,” she mused. “They could take only a little for a partner they might be a little more nervous about than others, or they could take a larger dose to last the whole time.”

 “Exactly! I might try to find a way to brand this as a Wheezes product if the Ministry will partner with me.”

She beamed at him. “I think we can work on something.”

 

Two hours later, both Hermione and George were sweaty, hungry, and thoroughly satisfied with their progress. Hermione had found a way to isolate the Amortentia fumes in an old potions book, and George thought he had perfected the Felix variant. They both stood over the potion, peering into its bubbling silver depths.

“It looks rather unsuspecting, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked.

George grinned at her. “The best potions do. I think it’ll work, though. I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t since I pretty much followed the directions to a T. I just added a little bit more peppermint than your original recipe called for.”

Hermione frowned. “You don’t think that’ll cause problems, do you?”

“It shouldn’t,” George reasoned. “I can test it if you want me to.”

Hermione thought for a moment. Though she was usually against giving others untested potions, she had to admit that the majority of George’s potions hadn’t maimed anyone. She warred with herself for a moment. “I’m trusting you on this one, George. You’re sure that nothing will happen because of the extra peppermint? You remember what Snape always said; don’t deviate from the directions.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I remember what the greasy-haired git said. I truly think we’ll be fine. They might just be a little more confident than normal, and is that really a bad thing?”

Despite her better judgment, George’s placations quieted the anxious schoolgirl of her youth who had to do everything according to the directions. “Alright, we’ll use it. Want to help me bottle everything up? I’ve already got the Amortentia fumes bottled.” She gestured to a small case of rounded vials next to her.

“Sure thing!” With a wave of his wand, a set of cylindrical vials floated toward them and carefully set themselves down next to George. He and Hermione both took one, and they filled the vials together in amiable silence. Verity hummed away behind them as she took notes on the still smouldering cauldron.

Hermione couldn’t help but enjoy the companionable silence she and George shared. The Weasleys had once felt like family to her, but Molly had been decidedly frosty toward her since the breakup. Someday she hoped that she and Ron could be friends again, but she was grateful to have the friendship of at least one of the Weasley boys. She’d missed their particular brand of ridiculous in the few months she’d distanced herself from the family.

Lost in her thoughts, the bottling of the potion passed quickly. She placed the last of the stoppered vials in the traveling container George was lending her and waved her wand to help George clear up the workstation. The work was quickly finished, and she packed her things up to leave.

“Everything okay, Hermione?” George questioned her. Even Verity looked up at her with eyebrows pinched together in concern.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I’m just lost in my thoughts. You know how it is,” she tried to play off her brief stint of melancholy, but George called her on the fake smile.

“You know, by now we’re good enough friends that I know when you’re not telling the truth,” George said.

She shouldered her bag and sighed. “I’m okay. Just a little nervous to do this. It just seems really final, you know? Ron and I aren’t together anymore, but I just don’t want to ruin our friendship when it comes down to it. I just hope that we can find a way to be friends again someday.”

George nodded and clapped her on the shoulder. “Ickle Ronniekins can be a spoiled prat when he doesn’t get his way, but I’m sure that you two will work out a friendship someday. You both just need to take some time away from each other, and you can work your way back to friends.”

Hermione smiled up at him. Not for the first time, she wondered how she’d missed how wise George could be. “You’re right. It’ll be okay!”

“There’s the smile! Now, get home cause I’m sure you’ve got a lot of work to catch up on after being here all day. The event is next Saturday, right?”

“Right!” she confirmed. “I’ll be sending out fliers via owl this week and hanging up adverts in the Leaky and Three Broomsticks.” She backed away from George and waved goodbye to him and Verity.

All in all, it had been a pretty productive day. She had her potions, she had at least two other people interested in the dating event, and she was finally doing something to take control of her life back after floating in limbo for the last few months. What could go wrong?


	3. Take a Chance on Me

Hermione looked around at the witches and wizards gathered around her and swallowed deeply. She’d had to drink a couple more glasses of wine than she’d anticipated at seeing her former classmates stroll through the door of the room she and Harry had reserved in the upper level of the Leaky Cauldron, and she was a little pleased to feel the familiar warmth spreading through her body as the alcohol calmed her nerves a bit.

With one last fortifying breath, she stepped up to the front of the small platform at the front of the room and caught Harry’s eye. At his encouraging nod, she cleared her throat and drew the attention of everyone in the room.

“Hello, everyone,” she called with a delicate laugh. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Murmurs met her question, but she continued. “I’m so glad to see you all tonight. As I’m sure you’re aware since you had to sign waivers, Harry and I are holding a speed dating event tonight, and you all are our guests.” She motioned Harry over, and he took his place next to her.

“Right,” he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We’ve split the group in half by men and women. Women will be remaining at their assigned tables, and the men will be moving from table to table each time the bell chimes. Each date will be given five minutes to determine if you’d like to meet another time. Any questions so far?”

A delicate voice pierced the air in the silence following Harry’s question. “What if we would also like to date someone of the same sex? Would that be allowed?” Luna Lovegood’s ethereal face peered up at Harry and Hermione.

“Err,” Hermione scrambled for an answer. “Unfortunately, we didn’t make any plans to include same-sex partners in this speed dating event, though I’m sure we could make some arrangements—”

“That would be lovely,” Luna breezed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to both the women and the men. Of course, if there are any other women that are interested as well.”

Next to Hermione, Harry turned beetroot. “Would any other participants like to talk to both the women and the men?” Parvati Patil tentatively raised her hand and smiled at Harry, then Luna. When no one else raised their hands, Luna skipped over to Parvati.

“In that case, we’ll just talk after the event,” she tittered and smiled at Hermione. Hermione beamed back at her.

“Lovely! Now that that’s sorted—” Hermione’s statement was cut off as the door to the room swung open. Harry’s swift intake of breath next to her was the only thing that alerted her to the fact that she wasn’t hallucinating what had walked through the door.

While she’d heard rumours that the Slytherins who had been acquitted of war crimes had been seen in and around Diagon Alley recently, she hadn’t seen any of them herself. Not that she was too broken up about the fact, but she was curious what each of them had been doing. After being separated from the trauma of both the war and a childhood of torment by the very people walking through the door, she’d come to accept the fact that they all had been children, albeit misguided children influenced by blood-thirsty parents. She’d begun to nurse a somewhat unhealthy obsession with the disgraced wizards and had found herself scouring articles discussing their comings and goings.

She was disgusted at herself for drinking up the dribble that was in the gossip magazines, but she wanted to understand the people who had differed so greatly from her for so long. She also had to admit that she was drawn to the grey eyes of a certain blond aristocrat who she suspected of feeling more remorse for his actions than any of them had ever given him credit for. That was what she had been harbouring in the shoebox that Harry had stumbled across; for reasons she didn’t even understand herself, she’d begun saving newspaper clippings of stories about the former Slytherins. One in particular happened to be the topic of discussion in most of the stories she’d saved, and she watched him take a spot along the back wall, his platinum blond hair shining in the dimly lit room.

She scanned the new arrivals and felt herself distantly putting names to faces as each one came to a halt within the doorway. Blaise Zabini led the charge, his deep brown eyes holding a challenge in them as he stared boldly forward. Next was Pansy Parkinson with her trademark bob and pouty smile, followed by Theodore Nott’s overly-confident slouch. Gregory Goyle followed in his wake, whose post-war appearance seemed much more agreeable than his Hogwarts appearance.

Predictably, the platinum menace she’d been far too curious about remained near the back of the group, clad impeccably in a bespoke suit and black wingtips. She realized she’d been staring when her gaze finally reached his face and he quirked an eyebrow over his impossibly perceptive eyes.

Cursing herself, Hermione ripped her gaze away and scanned the others in the crowd, trying to ignore the bemused expression on many of their faces.

“Anyway, as I was saying, now that we’ve sorted out the same sex couple question, we’ll get back to explaining the event.” She rubbed her hands on her trousers to clear away the sweat before she wordlessly summoned the two potions that each participant would be using. “Now, each of you have signed a waiver—or _will_ sign a waiver, for the new arrivals.”

She handed one of the two vials to Harry, who took it wordlessly. She held up a cylindrical vial for everyone to see. “This is the first potion. It’s a variation of Felix Felicis, or Liquid Luck.” A murmur ran through the crowd, and even Malfoy leaned forward in interest.

“Well Granger, get on with it. What is it?” Pansy Parkinson’s bored voice broke the interested silence.

Hermione gritted her teeth at the interruption. “I’m glad you asked, Parkinson. Where Felix Felicis is designed to bring the user good luck for the duration of its use, this variation is brewed with peppermint during its last heating. Since one of the properties of peppermint is to increase confidence, this variation of the potion allows the user to feel more confident during the duration of its use. Combined with the properties of the original Felix Felicis, the user should be more poised and self-assured in their interactions with other people, thus ensuring that their flirting is delivered well to the person of their interest.” She tried to ignore Malfoy’s nod of approval toward the back of the room.

Neville raised a tentative hand toward the back of the room. When Hermione indicated that he should speak, he quietly asked, “Won’t that be a little disingenuous, to make us different than we normally are?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but a quiet voice from the opposite side of the room beat her to it. “Longbottom, I think the purpose of the potion is to provide us with more confidence to say the things that we want to but wouldn’t under normal circumstances. If anything, I believe it would make us more authentic to how we normally think anyway.” Malfoy flicked his eyes up at Hermione, and she had to force herself not to inhale sharply at his shrewd gaze. “At least, I believe those are Granger’s intentions with the potion.”

She nodded. “Malfoy is exactly right, Neville. It’s not changing who you are as a person; it’s just giving you the courage to say and do the things you want to but wouldn’t necessarily try because you’re unsure of yourself.” She met Draco’s eyes and smiled tentatively. “Thanks for explaining that so well, Malfoy.”

He barely inclined his head in response, but Hermione took it.

Harry, noticing the tension in the room, took the lead on explaining the next vial. It was a slightly smaller, rounded container, and a light pink mist floated near the cork. “This is an isolation of the Amortentia fumes. As I’m sure most of you are aware from Potions with Slughorn, the steam from Amortentia smells differently to each person according to what attracts them.” Harry looked to each person in the room. “You don’t have to use this if you don’t want to. Some of us—” he cut his eyes to Hermione, who pretended to pick lint off her shirt to avoid eye contact. “—are a little nervous about whether or not they might actually hit it off with someone even after the five-minute dates, so you may try this to see if those scents indicate any sort of compatibility with your partners. Since these are only the fumes of the potion, this won’t make you love crazed, according to our brief field testing.”

Hermione stepped forward following Harry’s statement. “That’s what the waivers are for—neither of these potions are exactly approved yet, but our tests have yielded no negative results from the use of either. The forms that you are signing indicate that you will not hold Harry or I, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, or the Ministry of Magic accountable for any negative side effects, as these are all completely voluntary. Any questions?”

“So, are you and Potter participating?” Blaise drawled from his lazy slouch against the wall. 

Hermione bit her lip, unsure how to answer it. She’d like to participate, but she wasn’t sure how professional that would be since she arranged the event herself. Harry saved her from answering, though.

“We’ll be participating. It’s fairly simple to run, as long as everyone understands the rules. We can set a timer with our wands and it will allow time for each person to move.” He looked over at Hermione. “We’re both newly single and we have plenty of the potion. We might as well give it a go.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest when Blaise unfolded himself from the wall and rubbed his hands together. “Wow, both the Boy Who Lived and Hogwarts’ Golden Girl have come out to play tonight? I never thought I’d see the day. Come on, Granger, give it a go. According to _Witch Weekly_ , you could use a new man to help you get back at old Weaselbee. What have you got to lose?”

“Oi, Granger. Listen to the snake. We made a deal!” George piped up from the back of the room.

Though she disagreed with his assessment of the situation, she found she couldn’t argue with Blaise. She didn’t have anything to lose, and she _had_ made a deal with George.

Before she could change her mind, she nodded and flicked her wand. Another table zoomed forth from the closet and set itself up. With a couple more flicks of her wand, she summoned both an extra vase with flowers and candles to set themselves on the table to set the mood like she had for the others.

“Alright,” she called. “Let’s get started.”

After some awkward shuffling, the witches and wizards in the room finally arranged themselves at the tables. Witches sat at the outside of the table facing inward, and the wizards each took a place opposite them. After taking a moment to send out waivers to the new arrivals, Hermione stood and addressed the room once more.

“Alright, if everyone’s settled, we’ll get started. Remember that the long vial is the confidence potion and the round vial is the Amortentia variation; you’re not required to use either should you choose not to. Each date gets five minutes, and the chiming of the wand will signal you to move to the next partner. Each table has a selection of wines and alcohol to try, and you can summon more from the bar should you find one more agreeable to you.” She gave everyone a few beats of silence before she nodded once more. “Alright, time starts—” she tapped her wand and a large clock appeared and floated in the air in the middle of the room. “—now.”

Hermione plopped down in the chair and faced Harry, who was sipping a glass of firewhisky. “How in Merlin’s pants did I end up agreeing to this?” she moaned.

Harry laughed into his tumbler. “Well, it was your idea to create the event. It’s only fair that you reap the fruits of your labour.” He tipped his glass to her. “You hear that?”

Hermione strained her ears, but all she could hear was quiet murmuring and occasional laughter from the tables around her as the dates talked back and forth to each other. She looked at Harry with her eyebrows drawn together, perplexed. “Hear what?”

Harry’s eyes sparkled at her. “Everyone’s talking. There’s no hexing. You did this. Five years ago, you wouldn’t have caught all of us dead in a room together.”

Hermione shrugged, taking another sip of her wine. “I can’t really take credit for this. I just gave everyone a place to get together. Everyone has grown up for the most part.”

“I think I’ve met brick walls that take compliments better than you do, ‘Mione.” He rolled his eyes at her and dodged the rolled-up ball of napkin she threw at him.

“ _Don’t call me that!_ ” she hissed, eyes darting to the side to make sure no one else had heard. She hated nicknames, and Harry couldn’t seem to get it through his head. She reached for her empty wine glass and poured herself some more. “I’m just trying to get through this night, that’s it.” She sighed.

Harry pursed his lips and nodded, surveying the room. Ginny had shown up just before the event started, and he’d been shooting covert looks at her all night. Hermione reached across the table and grabbed his hand.

“Try not to think about it. Like you said, this is supposed to be fun. Loosen up some.”

Harry snorted and looked down, toying with the two vials on the table. “Easier said than done. What does your Amortentia smell like?”

Hermione followed his gaze and swallowed her trepidation. She hadn’t fully committed to the idea that she would find someone she’d be comfortable dating here, but she hadn’t given up all hope. Her eyes darted across the room to study the back of Malfoy’s head where he listened to an animated Luna. “I haven’t smelled it yet. Have you?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced over to where he could see Ginny talking with Seamus Finnegan. “It doesn’t smell like her. I’m both relieved and disappointed.”

She smiled sadly at him and picked up the longer of the two vials, swirling the red and gold liquid within. Funny how much it resembled the Gryffindor colours when it was supposed to instill a virtue they were rumoured to already have. She looked up and met his curious gaze as she rolled the vial between her fingertips. She gestured with the vial. “I will if you will.”

Harry looked between her and the vial in her fingertips. Just as the buzzer rang to indicate the end of the date he nodded. “Deal.”

Before she could second guess herself, Hermione uncorked the vial and downed the potion in one gulp. It took a moment, but she felt the potion settle in her stomach. After a few brief moments, during which she covertly slipped the smaller vial unopened into her jeans pockets, she looked up at Harry. “Do you feel anything?”

He looked up at her and shrugged. “Maybe a little warmer? I can’t tell beyond that.”

She frowned and looked down at the potion. “Hmm, that’s strange. The original test group did say that there were some discrepancies in physical reactions. It should kick in soon though.”

A throat clearing next to Harry drew both of their gazes. Blaise leaned against the table, staring down at the two of them with glazed over eyes. He flicked a glance at the large clock in the middle of the room slowly clicking its way to the next date timer. He looked back down his chiselled nose at Harry. “I believe you’re in my seat, Potter.”

Hermione watched her friend’s cheeks blush, and he stuttered as he stood. His gaze lingered on where Blaise’s hands rested on the back of the chair as he mumbled an apology. Hermione quirked a brow at Harry’s behaviour as he visibly collected himself and shot back at Blaise, “You’re welcome to have a seat in my lap if you’re in that big of a hurry, Zabini.” Hermione’s eyebrows shot up, and Harry turned on his heel and stalked to the next table where Susan Bones sat. She and Blaise stared at his back with twin expressions of shock. Only the buzzing of the clock that signalled the beginning of the next round snapped them back to reality and Blaise dropped into the seat Harry had vacated.

“Well, that was certainly an interesting turn of events,” he drawled, gaze still lingering on the back of Harry’s head.

Hermione chuckled uncomfortably. “You can say that again. Probably the effects of the potion, though. I wouldn’t put too much thought into it.”

“Hmm, quite right.” Blaise spun around in his chair and crossed one long leg over the other. He flicked his wrist lazily and a bottle of whiskey floated over from the bar and gracefully filled his tumbler before floating back to the bar. He sipped from the glass and eyed Hermione over the rim of the glass. “So, Granger. The war ends, and you still can’t take the time to figure out how to dress?”

Hermione spluttered on her sip of wine. “Excuse you?” She looked down at the soft cardigan and skinny jeans she’d paired with a sensible pair of flats. “And just what is wrong with my outfit?”

Blaise scoffed. “Please, Granger, you call that an outfit? I think my grandmother dressed more sensibly when we put her in the grave.” He rolled his tumbler between his hands as he studied her. “You’re supposed to be catching a date, not preparing to dust old books in the back of a library. At least the hair is an improvement.”

Hermione knocked back the rest of her wine before she levelled a glare at Blaise. “I’m sorry that not all of us dress like we have a stick shoved sideways up our arse all the time.” Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth, and she stared at Blaise.

He studied her for a moment before a small smile cracked across his face. “Well, at least you make up for your inability to dress properly with that Gryffindor wit we all know and love.”

“Actually, I think that’s a result of the potion.” She grimaced and held up the vial.

Blaise inclined his head and leaned forward. “Potion or no potion, it’s entertaining. So,” he splayed his perfectly manicured hands on the table. “What’s the story with Potter and the Weaselette?”

Hermione followed Blaise’s glance over his shoulder once more and felt her brows draw together as he studied the back of Harry’s head. “They’re no longer an item, not that it concerns you.” She aimed a glare at Blaise until he turned around. “I don’t know what you’re thinking about doing, Zabini, but I will hex you into oblivion if you hurt my friends.”

Blaise snorted. “Granger, I think this feisty side of you is much more _you_ than you’re letting on.” He stood from the table just as the buzzer rang for the end of the date. “Always a pleasure.” With that, he loped away from the table.

Hermione tapped her fingers on the table impatiently. She’d had two dates so far tonight—Harry and Blaise—and neither of them were turning out. Harry was like her brother, so she knew that nothing would come of that, but she’d always harboured a little bit of intrigue about the mysterious Blaise Zabini. However, as he slouched down in his seat across from Luna while eyeing Harry across the room, Hermione knew that her crush had been futile; she had a sinking suspicion that Zabini had shown up for the other half of the duo hosting the event.

Though she could have stewed in her frustration longer, the chair Blaise had recently vacated slid out. A figure in a charcoal suit dropped into it in one fluid motion, and Hermione found her eyes drawn up to impossibly dark eyes and a sinful mouth sipping brandy neat.

“Granger,” Draco Malfoy drawled. He dipped his head slightly, maintaining eye contact from beneath long lashes. Her heart stuttered a little bit in her chest.

Hermione cleared her throat slightly when she realized she’d been staring. “Malfoy. Good to see you.” It came out more question than statement, and she felt her heart quicken when his lips quirked upward slightly.

“Is it?” Hermione didn’t deign to answer what she knew was a rhetorical question, so she stared at him expectantly until he sighed and continued. “I guess some things never change, do they Granger?”

She scoffed at him. “And for what reason would they change, Malfoy?” she made a show of looking around herself. The other speed date participants were deep in conversation, though Neville appeared to be in a blind panic as Pansy Parkinson leaned over the table seductively. “I don’t think you’ve given me a reason to believe anything has changed, Malfoy. You disappeared after the war, and before the war you tormented me for my inferior blood status.” She raised a brow at him imperiously, daring him to disagree.

To her surprise, he leaned back in his chair and dropped his mildly aggressive pose. “There’s that Gryffindor courage we’ve all come to know and love.” She didn’t dare to correct his echoed sentiment that the courage was a product of the potion she’d consumed in her nerves to see him and the other Slytherins. “How about I give you a reason to believe that I’ve changed? Hell, that all the Slytherins have changed. We might surprise you, you know.”

Hermione had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. After all, he was in the same room as her for the first time since she and Harry had defended him at his trial, and he’d yet to call her any horrid names. “I’ll give you one opportunity to prove that you’re not as vile as you used to be.”

She’d been attempting to throw him off with her comment, but a slow, seductive smirk spread across his lips, and she realized too late that he had counted on her more charitable nature. And now she was stuck.

“One opportunity will be all I need, Granger.” Malfoy’s smirk turned steely as he let his gaze travel the visible length of her. Hermione shivered as it lingered on the line of her neck, the swell of her breasts, and then back to the bow of her lips. Unbidden warmth pooled in the depths of her stomach when his tongue flicked out to wet his lips. She belatedly realized that she, too, had been staring and cursed inwardly. “Go on a date with me. Tomorrow.”

She stared at him mutely for a moment, at a loss for words. When she finally processed both his statement and the fact that they had both very obviously been eye-fucking each other, she blushed. She felt the warmth of it travel up her neck and spread across her cheeks. “I’m sorry, but a date? That’s what it’ll take to make me realize you’ve changed?”

Malfoy appeared satisfied with himself. “I figure it’s a win-win. You realize that I’m not the big, bad Death Eater I once was, and I get to take out Gryffindor’s All-Grown-Up Golden Girl.” His smile had an edge to it when he tacked on, “And if the evening goes well, we might just find something else to do. How does that Muggle song go? Take a chance on me?”

“Are you—propositioning me?” Hermione gaped at him, unsure whether she was more shocked at his insinuations or the fact that he knew ABBA.

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of calm and collected, though Hermione could see the molten grey of his eyes piercing into her. He looked hungry, and she found that she rather enjoyed that expression directed at her.

“I’m not propositioning you, I’m asking you on a date that may or may not end up with me taking you back to my flat.” Malfoy’s words went straight to her gut, and both her heartbeat and slumbering libido perked up. “So, I’ll pick you up at your place. For the love of all things magical and good in the world, wear something cute.” Malfoy snapped his fingers. “Since you’re unsure of the date, I’ll have something sent over. Nothing too out there, but it’s the least I could do since you’re hesitant. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He stood from the table and offered Hermione a sweeping bow with a smirk on his lips. “Until tomorrow.”

Hermione was still reeling a moment later when Neville Longbottom plopped into the chair across from her. His wild-eyed look of confusion made Hermione put her own concern aside.

“Neville?” she inquired tentatively. “Is everything okay?” She had to resist her impulse to throw another wide-eyed look at the smirking blonde walking away from her.

“I think—” he paused a second before looking up at Hermione with a crease between his brows. “I think I just told Pansy Parkinson that I’d fancy a shag with her. And I think she agreed to one?”

Hermione blinked once, twice, before she finally found the words she wanted to say. “I’m sorry, but what in Merlin’s pants did you just tell me?”

“Exactly.”


	4. How About a Little Honesty?

Hermione had gone home the night before and crashed. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about the fact that Draco had asked her on a date the night before. She _definitely_ did not allow herself to think about the fact that he’d basically _propositioned_ her. However, that meant that she’d awoken hours before her alarm the next morning and laid in bed fretting about the impending evening.

He’d seemed genuine enough, but she couldn’t help but worry that this was some kind of elaborate prank to get back at her. She’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t curious about him though. Her embarrassing tendency to seek out articles about him and the other Slytherins in the _Prophet_ contradicted that.

Hermione groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. It was only eight in the morning—just under eleven hours until he would pick her up for their date—and her nerves were already frayed.

A quiet tapping from the window was the only thing that pulled her out of her self-imposed breakdown half an hour later. A small tawny owl sat on the window sill with a small piece of parchment tied to its leg. Reluctantly, she threw back her quilts and crossed the room to let the little owl into the room. It hooted happily as she untied the note with handwriting she recognized as George’s from its leg and accepted the treat she offered it. The little bird hopped to the ledge and flapped away. Just as Hermione was closing the window, a speck in the sky began to grow closer, and she recognized two owls flying awkwardly toward her flat. She opened the window further and stepped back as both owls struggled through the window carrying a box between them.

Puzzled, she offered the two new owls treats. They accepted and swept out the window with sleepy hoots.

She studied the box trying to place it. She hadn’t ordered anything through owl post recently, and her birthday had already passed. Suddenly it hit her—Malfoy had said he was going to send her a dress for their date that night. That little git—

Her rant was interrupted by the roar of the Floo. Cursing, she pulled her discarded pyjamas on and opened the door, so she could greet her uninvited guest. “This had better be important,” she groused. She paused at the sight in front of her.

George was pacing back and forth in the middle of her living room, his hair a mess. He wheeled around when he heard her door open and a great sigh gusted out of him. “Thank Merlin you’re here. We have a problem.”

“What’s going on? You know that I don’t like visitors before nine, George. I have a very specific routine in the mornings and—”

“Something went wrong with the potion, Hermione.”

The words went straight to Hermione’s stomach, and she felt an all-too familiar anxiety rear its ugly head. “What do you mean, ‘something went wrong’? Explain what happened.”

George scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Well, last night after the speed dating game, Angelina and I decided to go back to my flat, and one thing led to another, and—you know, she does this really fantastic thing in bed where she—”

“Whoa! Okay, no!” Hermione stuck her fingers in her ears and shook her head. “I do not need to hear about my ex’s brother and his lady’s sexual exploits.” She took her fingers out of her ears when she saw his mouth stop moving. “Are you done now?”

With a cheeky grin, George rushed out in one breath, “Angelinadidthesplitsonmydickanditwasawesome.”

“Ugh, seriously?” Hermione grimaced. “I’m super happy that you guys are back together and better than ever, but now I’m never going to be able to be around you two without blushing.”

George’s grin only got wider. “You’re welcome. Anyway, after the bloody fantastic shag, I did something I’ve wanted to do forever.”

“George, if you’re about to tell me something else you guys did in bed, then I’m banning you from my flat,” Hermione warned, fingers ready to plug her ears.

“No, no, no. We did _that_ afterwards.” He waggled his eyebrows at her groan. “No, I accidentally asked her to marry me. When we were naked. With my grandmother’s ring.”

“You proposed?! And what did she say??” She ran to George and enveloped him in a hug.

“Oi, witch, I am an _engaged_ man!” he beamed. “She said yes, of course!”

“Oh, George, that’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you!” Hermione grinned up at him. “Wait, you said something went _wrong_ with the potion. I don’t see what you mean so far.”

That wiped the smile off George’s face. “That’s the thing. I was ridiculously nervous to see her yesterday, so I took the Felix variant. I just jumped out of bed and told her everything I loved about her this morning and asked her to marry me, and I wasn’t nervous at all.”

Hermione stared up at him. “You’re still feeling the effects of the potion this morning… but it was supposed to wear off last night!”

George stared at her. “Exactly. I’m not sure what happened, but the potion’s effects last longer than we anticipated and intended. I’m also ridiculously honest. It’s like whatever I’m thinking and want to say but don’t have the guts to just spills out unless I really focus on it; it’s like a demented version of Veritaserum for the things you most want to tell someone. I think— I think it might have been the extra peppermint. It might have thrown something else off in the potion.”

“Have you noticed anything else? Any physical symptoms?”

George shook his head. Mind racing, Hermione stepped away from him and picked up the pen and pad of paper she kept on her side table. She quickly jotted down all the information that George had given her: confidence lasting over twelve hours, no physical symptoms.

“Has it gotten any better as time passes?” she queried, pen tip in her mouth.

George thought for a moment. “It does seem like it might be going away, but I didn’t have the whole vial. I only used about a quarter of it. And I didn’t take it until half past nine, just before Angelina came to my table.”

Her heart sank as she remembered both her and Harry knocking back the entire vial of the potion the night before. If just a quarter of a bottle lasted twelve hours, then a whole vial was likely to last two whole days—plenty of time for her to be overly honest and confident for her date with Malfoy. She groaned.

George looked crestfallen. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. I didn’t think anything would happen if I added more peppermint. It just seemed so innocent, and I wanted to be as confident as possible when I finally got the chance to talk to Angelina again.”

Hermione sighed. “It’s okay, George. It’s just—I have a date with Malfoy tonight. So now I’m going to have very little filter and be super confident about it.”

“At least it could be worse?” he looked like a kicked puppy.

“It could be worse,” she grinned up at him, trying to cover her newly revived nerves about her date that evening. “Now, you get home and enjoy time with your fiancée. Owl me if anything changes or when the effects of the potion wear off.”

“You got it. Thanks, ‘Mione.” George swept in for a hug despite her complaints of the nickname. Moments later, the Floo roared as he disappeared back to his own flat and his awaiting fiancée.

Later, Hermione glared at the box that had arrived at her flat earlier in the day. It was exquisitely wrapped in deep crimson paper. A gold bow adorned the package, and she just knew that Malfoy had wrapped it in a nod to her house colours on purpose. She still hadn’t opened that package, and he was due to pick her up in an hour. She was still a little miffed that he’d actually sent her a package of clothing to wear. _As if_ she didn’t know how to dress herself.

She glared at the package once more before she turned to glare at herself in the mirror. She’d been warring with herself over exactly how dressed up she’d get tonight, but she’d pulled out all the stops on her hair for once. Though she hated to admit it, she had young Malfoy’s voice in her head the entire time she’d tamed her curls into beautiful ringlets that fell past her shoulders elegantly. She’d be damned if she let him have any ammunition to tell her she didn’t look utterly shaggable tonight.

She’d originally decided that she was only going to put in minimal effort for the date; after all, she couldn’t seriously date Malfoy. She’d only decided to go through with the date because she had made a deal with George, and Malfoy had been adamant on taking her out. In the end, she’d decided that she might as well take the opportunity to let the Malfoy heir see everything he’d missed out on after years of bullying her. She was a bona fide babe, if she said so herself.

She stepped closer to the mirror to scrutinize her makeup. She hadn’t wanted to put on too much to begin with, but she’d somehow left fresh-faced behind for sultry-eyed vixen. If she weren’t honest, she wasn’t too broken up over the extra makeup. She’d opted for a classic red lip paired with a subtle smoky eye. All-in-all, she was satisfied with her appearance, and she was glad that she’d let Ginny drag her to the Muggle makeup counter for lessons.

With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror and picked up the little black dress—her go-to for dates. She used to love the dress so much, an impulse buy that Ron had pressured her into trying on when they were walking around Muggle London one afternoon. She’d loved it and had bought it. She smiled sadly at it and looked back at the box. Though she hated to admit it, she didn’t want to go out in a dress that was weighed down with old memories. She placed the dress back into her closet. Nothing else was suitable for a date, so she turned back to the box that Malfoy had sent her.

Running her fingers over the beautiful packaging, she knew that she’d end up wearing whatever it was that he had sent her. With that thought, she carefully peeled back the wrapping paper and opened the box.

The first thing she noticed was an envelope addressed to her atop a pair of heels. She was prepared to find ridiculously high heels, but the little black satin pumps featured a modest heel and a peep toe. They were, in a word, adorable. She nearly fainted when she noticed the unmistakeable red bottom of Louboutins. Of course Draco would buy her shoes that cost more than her rent. She’d wear them tonight and then insist he take them back afterward. With that thought in mind, she opened the small envelope.

The note inside was simple. _Hermione,_ it read. _Thank you for agreeing to this date. Since I knew you wouldn’t come out in an emerald dress, and I couldn’t bear any more maroon than the packaging, I settled on a compromise. A nod to both of our interest in knowledge. I’ll pick you up at 7. D.M._

Puzzled, Hermione peeled back the tissue paper. Nestled within was quite possibly the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. It was a deep blue, nearly black, sheath gown. It featured one sleeve and fell in gentle waves of silk when she picked it up. Upon closer inspection, the dress had just the slightest hint of sparkle to it. As Hermione inspected it, she realized that it wasn’t just any sparkle. It was charmed, she realized, to mimic the night sky. The sparkle was stars charmed into the very fabric of her dress.

She was momentarily stunned. The dress was beautiful and exquisitely made. It must have cost Draco a fortune, and she wasn’t sure she could wear something so beautiful and do it justice.

She bit her lip and stared at the dress. How had he known that she’d want something so understated? The bastard was undoubtedly good at this, and she conceded to the fact that she would, indeed, be wearing his dress out tonight. She pulled the dress the rest of the way out of the box and watched the fabric cascade to the floor with not a wrinkle in sight. She unzipped it and only slightly reluctantly stepped into the dress.

With a wave of her wand, the dress zipped itself up, and Hermione turned to inspect herself in the mirror. _Oh, he’s good_ , she thought as she looked herself up and down with more than a little bit of pride. The dress hugged her in just the right places, and the deep blue deepened her already dark eyes until they were nearly black. She stepped into the pumps and admired herself in the mirror.

She was still admiring her reflection, turning this way and that, when she heard the Floo in her living room roar to life, signalling Malfoy’s arrival. She cursed inwardly at getting lost in inspecting herself and shouted out to him that she’d be out in a moment.

She raced over to her jewellery box and retrieved the pair of small sapphire earrings her parents had given her on her sixteenth birthday. Fighting back the wave of emotions that the jewellery welled up in her, she slipped them into her ears and took one final look in the mirror. With a nod of approval, she summoned the clutch she’d applied an undetectable extension charm to and slipped her wand inside. She steeled her nerves and opened her bedroom door.

She must have been quieter than her racing heart led her to believe because Malfoy had his back to her still, examining the photos she had lined up on her mantle. He was in a classic black suit and loafers, and his hair was impeccably coiffed. Hermione could see the appeal of him even from the back side— _especially_ from the back side, her inner teenager crowed—and she studied him curiously.

He was remarkably relaxed in her space, perusing her photos with his hands in his pockets. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet and checked his watch surreptitiously. Hermione coughed a little to get his attention. He turned halfway to her and froze, his gaze roving over her. When he didn’t say anything, she cleared her throat to dispel the tension. “Hi,” she said.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Hi,” he said, his gaze still locked on her figure. A herd of hippogriffs roared through Hermione’s stomach when he finally met her eyes. “You wore the dress I sent you. I have to admit that I’m a little surprised.”

Hermione bit back the retort that threatened to spill off her tongue, but her reply was still sassier than she normally was. “Well, it seemed silly to waste the galleons that you spent on it, and I do make the dress look good.”

She didn’t miss the way that Malfoy’s gaze swept over her once more, nor did she miss the slight darkening of his eyes as his tongue darted out to wet his lips once more. “Yes, you certainly do make it look good.”

Caught off guard by his genuine compliment, she didn’t say anything when he crossed the room to her. “Ready?” he murmured.

Hermione nodded mutely. The only thing she could register in that moment was his steely eyes staring at her and the fact that he was tall, taller than he’d been in Hogwarts. The thought echoed around her mind—just when had she noticed Malfoy’s exact height in Hogwarts and why was his stature now strangely attractive—when Malfoy spun on the spot, disapparating them with a pop.

When her feet touched the ground again, Malfoy’s grip on her arm tightened to keep her from stumbling. She righted herself and glanced over at him, surreptitiously pulling her arm out of his hold. He straightened his suit jacket, and Hermione glanced around at her surroundings.

She wasn’t sure where they were, but she knew it was an upscale Muggle district somewhere, judging by the expensive cars lining the street. A Mercedes Benz pulled up to the curb next to them and Hermione had to stifle a gasp when Julie Andrews stepped out of the back seat. Draco’s clearing throat caught her attention again as she stared at the woman strutting toward the entrance. She rolled her eyes at his snarky smirk. “Oh please, as if you wouldn’t have gotten a little starstruck if one of your favourite Quidditch players had stepped out of that car.”

He cracked a smile at her comment and shook his head. “No, Granger, I would have walked up to them and said hello. Maybe tell them how much I admire them. You know, like a normal person?”

Hermione didn’t deign his comment with a response, but instead turned to survey the building before them. “Well, I believe I was told that we were going on a dinner date?” She looked at Draco pointedly. “This is the point where you take my arm and escort me into the building to the maître d′, you know, like a normal date.”

“Oh yes, indeed, Hermione. I apologize for my _atrocious_ manners,” he drawled, holding his arm out for her. Hermione took it and suppressed the urge to roll her eyes lest they pop out of her head and roll away. He led her to the ornately cut doors of the building and waited for the attendants to open the door for them. Hermione bit her lip, unaccustomed to such treatment. If she were honest, she preferred to stay at home and cook a meal in, but Draco had insisted on the date, so she was following his terms.

The doors opened into an ornate foyer where the maître d′ table stood. A disgruntled couple sat at a bench next to it where they argued with each other about reservations. Malfoy, however, strolled right up to the counter and exchanged a few hushed words with the maître d′, who led them to a secluded table in the back. Like the gentleman his mother had no doubt tried to teach him to be, he pulled out her chair and helped her into her seat.

She took a few moments while he arranged himself in his chair to survey the room around her. The closest table to them was far enough away that they would have plenty of privacy for their date. Soft jazz music played on the speakers and several couples danced near their tables. Most of the lighting came from small candles lit on the centre of each table in the middle of pristine white table clothes. It was all so elegant, she thought, not like the kinds of dates Ron would take her on. Though it was a restaurant, she had the distinct feeling that the few seats and dimmed lighting was meant to create a romantic and secluded atmosphere.

Their waiter, a man a few years older than herself, approached the table and asked for their drink of preference. Hermione panicked momentarily and blanked, but Malfoy, who had been watching her quietly, smoothly intervened and ordered a vintage wine older than she was—and likely ridiculously expensive—and the waiter flitted away to retrieve it. Silence settled over them like a blanket, and Hermione fought the urge to fidget.

More than anything, she was curious why Malfoy had asked her for the date. He’d seemed so sure that he wanted to take her out and he’d implied that he wanted much more than just a date. She could feel his eyes on her as a thousand questions that she hadn’t let herself ponder over the last twenty-four hours battered around inside her head, and the malfunctioning confidence potion searched for the correct one to ask.

“Why?” slipped out unbidden, and she watched him blink in confusion. He reached for his glass of water and took a sip while Hermione waited for him to answer. He placed the water back on the table and traced the rim with his finger while she watched. If Ron and Harry had taught her anything, staring at men quietly unnerved them enough to get an honest answer if one waited long enough.

He finally looked up at her a few minutes later. “I assume you’re asking why I asked you out, since there’s a hundred other things you could ask me about.” She nodded, and he licked his lip. Hermione fought her small start when she realized that the small action was a tell; he was nervous.

He sighed. “As I’m sure you’ve read, my friends and I have suffered from quite a deserved tumble from grace. It would be inaccurate to say I was a hundred percent behind Voldemort while I was still in school; I guess my beliefs started cracking when he lived in my home, and I saw how truly horrific he was.” She nodded and waited for him to go on. “The truth, Granger, is that I’ve always been a little fascinated with you.”

“With me?” she asked dryly. She felt her shoulders tighten “Did that fascination drive you to call me a Mudblood all the time or antagonize my friends?”  The words came out sharp and cold.

 Malfoy had the decency to look ashamed. “I never claimed to be the most wonderful person in the world. I was downright horrible to you and your friends, and I believed in the pureblood dogma for longer than I like to admit. But by sixth year, I knew it wasn’t right. I just was too far in to get out. He had the one thing that he knew would keep me in no matter what he forced me to do: my mother.”

“So, you saw the light in sixth year and only did the things you did because you didn’t want anything to happen to your mother?” She couldn’t help but sounds sceptical. “I’m sorry, Malfoy, but you’ll have to forgive me for not believing you.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak when the waiter returned with the wine Draco had ordered. He presented the bottle for Draco’s approval, then poured a small amount into a glass for him to test. Once Malfoy had nodded his approval the waiter filled both their glasses. Only after he had asked what they would be having for dinner that evening did Hermione realize that she hadn’t once looked at the menu, as she was too captivated and confused by the man in front of her.

Malfoy looked across at her. “Do you have anything in mind?” She shook her head and he replied, “Then I’ll order for you, if you don’t object.” When she didn’t, he named a couple of dishes and the waiter nodded. Once he had retreated, Malfoy studied her once more.

His gaze was piercing, so she squirmed in her seat, pulling the sleeve of the gifted dress down a bit. She suddenly felt too exposed with the satin covering only one arm. She felt his eyes linger on her exposed collarbone and the column of her neck. Unbidden, a flush rose to her skin where his eyes travelled, and she fidgeted more in her seat.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” Malfoy’s voice broke the silence, and Hermione snapped her head up to gape at him. She pinched herself to ensure it wasn’t a dream, but she was still in the restaurant with the man who’d hated her as a child. The man who had just called her beautiful and who was currently smiling at her gently. It was an expression she’d never seen on him before, and it unnerved her, but not in a way that she was entirely uncomfortable with.

“I’m sorry, but what did you just say?”

He shrugged. “You asked me why I asked you out on a date tonight. Part of the reason that I asked you out is because you’re beautiful. That’s not the entire reason, of course,” he hurried on before she could voice her displeasure that he asked her out based purely on aesthetic attraction. “No, at some point in time, I realized that I tormented you so much when we were kids because I was fascinated with you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s rich. I thought you might be above pulling the ‘I only bullied you because I liked you’ card, but I guess not.”

“I never said I was a very bright child, did I?” Malfoy scoffed. “You were so different from everyone I knew and everything everyone had ever told me about Muggle-borns. You were this ball of self-righteous intelligence all wrapped up in the bushiest hair I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t be friends with you even though I wanted to know you. So I improvised. Not the brightest thing I’ve ever done, but you did notice me.” He shrugged cavalierly.

“Alright, Malfoy.” Hermione leaned forward and steepled her fingers under her chin. She didn’t miss the lingering glance he gave the newly accentuated line of her bust. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a nice dinner, on you. You’re going to be a gentleman, and I’m going to be the perfect little Muggle-born date. You’re going to compliment how beautiful I am—because we both know that I look damn good in this dress—and I’ll bat my eyelashes in all the right places. At the end of the night, you’ll escort me back to my flat.”

Draco had leaned forward through her speech, and his eyes flashed when she mentioned her flat. “What are we going to do when we get back to your flat, Granger?”

The waiter interrupted them once more as he brought a plate full of squared cheeses—one of the appetizers Draco had ordered. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes after the waiter had left them again. _Thank Merlin for this potion_ , she thought, and she sipped from her wine glass. A drop of wine lingered on her upper lip, and she watched Malfoy’s eyes follow her tongue as she swiped her lip clean. She had him _right_ where she wanted him. “When we get back to my flat, I might let you kiss me.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I might let you come inside.”

Malfoy had leaned forward, hanging on her every word.

“And if you’re a good little snake, I _might_ let you fuck me.”

Heat flared in his eyes and she watched him swallow thickly. He reached for his wine and took a large drink. When he placed it back down, he tried to hide his slight squirm. He shot her a sexy smirk—his attempt at regaining the upper hand in the conversation. “You’re much more forward than you used to be in Hogwarts, Granger. It’s good to see you’re not the goody two-shoes you used to be.”

He was impossibly handsome, and she had to admit that he’d apparently polished the _very_ rough edges he’d sported at Hogwarts, but she wasn’t about to give in to a sexy smirk and impeccably fitted trousers. He could have her tonight, but it would be on _her_ terms. “But for now, Malfoy, I’m going to tell you exactly why this won’t work after tonight.”


	5. Burn with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here's where I start getting nervous. Be gentle! xD

“There are exactly three things that make a relationship work,” Hermione said. She reached for her glass of wine and swirled the contents before taking a sip. She lowered the glass and eyed Malfoy over the rim. “One: common interests.”

Malfoy perked up at that, and Hermione watched him straighten his cuff links. “Well, we’ve got plenty of common interests.”

She snorted indelicately. “And what might those be?”

Malfoy leaned back comfortably in his chair. It was unfair how comfortable he seemed in such an upscale place while Hermione felt on edge. Her only saving grace at this point was the malfunction with the confidence potion, but even with that she wasn’t sure when the effects would wear off and what would happen if they did. Her gaze was drawn to the light stubble at his chin as she listened to him list off their apparent common interests.

“Well, for starters, we both love to rile each other up,” he said, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips. She snapped her gaze up to meet his as she felt an unexpected shudder dance within her stomach. She fought to keep it from showing, but the sudden depth in Malfoy’s eyes led her to believe that he’d somehow picked up on it. “Secondly, we’re both ridiculously intelligent; we enjoy arithmancy and ancient runes, and we’ve both considered academic careers in research but found it too mundane to actually hold our interests for long.”

Hermione tipped her head to the side and studied Malfoy. Surely, he couldn’t have picked that all up from their five-minute date during the speed dating event.

Malfoy waved her away. “I might have asked around the office after you. Potter isn’t always the easiest to get details out of, but he’s got a quick temper, and I’d rather talk to him than Weaselbee.”

“So, you’re trying to convince me that you’ve talked to _Harry Potter_ , your sworn nemesis for nearly seven years, about me?” she scoffed into her drink. “I’m sorry to tell you, Malfoy, but I just don’t buy it.”

The waiter chose that opportunity to bring their entrees to the table. Per Hermione’s expectations at the lavish atmosphere, her steak was cooked to perfection and everything looked delicious. She took a moment to lay her napkin across her lap. Without waiting for a response from Malfoy, she tucked into her meal, delicately cutting a bite of steak and popping it into her mouth. She swallowed a moan as the flavours spread across her tongue.

When she’d finished chewing and swallowing her bite, she glanced up across the table. Malfoy was staring at her, his attention rapt as she carefully cut another bite. She shivered once more at the depth in his eyes and crossed her legs discreetly when his tongue flitted out and wet his lips. She felt colour rise to her cheeks, and she ducked her head to take a sip of her wine.

If she was going to make it through this dinner, she would need as much of the liquid courage as she could get, especially if he was going to keep staring at her like she was his main course.

After a few moments of brief silence, during which Malfoy had begun eating, he interrupted her racing thoughts. “So, Granger, you said there were three reasons this wasn’t going to work. I’ve already ruled out one of them. What are the other two, so I can shoot them down, too?”

Hermione sighed inwardly and set her fork and knife down on either side of her plate. “Reason number two: relationships need stability. I don’t think you can offer that with your notorious bachelor lifestyle.”

Draco nodded at Hermione’s statement. “I assumed that would be one of them. You’ve been reading the tabloids, haven’t you?” He smirked at her silence. “As one might expect, those don’t always report one hundred percent of the truth, do they? Or do you expect me to believe that you’re actually using your campaign for house elf rights to run an underground clothing line in the basement of Harry’s home?”

She gasped in shock. “They actually said that?”

Draco nodded grimly at her. “So you understand why I have such a hard time reading anything in those magazines, let alone believing anything they’ve published. They survive on sensationalism.” He raised a brow at her. “I would have expected someone as intelligent as you to understand that.”

At that, Hermione felt properly chastised. She knew that it was pretty pathetic to lap up the dribble that those magazines had published, but she’d also been rightly curious of the enigmatic wizard before her. After seeing the way he’d protected his mother at the battle of Hogwarts, she wanted to know what drove the blond and how he was living his life now that he was no longer under the thumb of the world’s darkest wizard. Who could blame her for reading the articles when the tabloids were the only ones who dared to write about the “disgraced former Death Eaters,” as they’d been aptly nicknamed?

At her silence, he continued. “If you took the time to talk to me to sate your curiosity, you would know that I’ve been working on rebranding the Malfoy family name. I don’t wish to be associated with my father anymore, so I disbanded the original family business.” He took a sip of his wine, and Hermione studied him as he savoured it. “Instead, we’ve gone into real estate. Buying and remodelling dilapidated buildings. Then, we auction them off to the highest bidder or donate them for rehabilitation of those displaced by the war.”

Hermione stared at him, mouth agape. She couldn’t quite make the connection between the snobby, stuck up child of their youth and the polished, well-spoken man that sat before her. The fact that he was discussing his business—what was essentially a charity, if she thought about it—with her further rendered her speechless.

After a moment, she found her words. “That’s—very noble of you. You did, however, say ‘we’. Who is in this business with you?”

Draco smiled slightly at her and motioned their waiter over. At some point in their conversation, she’d drained her glass of wine. He waited until the waiter had refilled her glass before he continued. “The business consists of Theodore, Blaise, Pansy, Greg, and myself. Frankly, not many of your lot would accept former Death Eaters as business partners, so we had to band together. It only made sense to utilize the connections we’d already made.”

She grimaced at the subtle jab in his comment. Still, she was curious about his motivations for starting the business. “I guess I just wonder at the authenticity of your motivations for creating this business.”

Across from her, Draco’s eyes hardened. If she hadn’t known him for so long and been the recipient of glares just like that for so long, she would have missed it. Instead, she felt the ghost of old emotional wounds rear their ugly heads at his look. However, with a quick intake of breath, during which Hermione suspected he mentally counted to five, the look passed. In its place was a weary frustration that he tried to hide by pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingertips.

“Call it atonement or call it bribery, whatever helps you feel better. We’re doing this because we all know, on some level or another, that we have committed wrongs that only we can right. If creating a business that gives back is going to help us right those wrongs even a little bit, it’s the least we could do.” Draco looked up at her and his earnest expression gave her pause.

Despite everything she knew about the Malfoy heir, he seemed to really mean and believe what he was saying. Her heart bottomed out a bit, and she bit her lip to keep from blurting something stupid out.

“Besides,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. “I could say the same of you, miss ‘Brightest Witch of Our Age’ who has somehow fallen off the radar as of late.”

She laughed. “Well, you would too if your significant other embarrassed you in front of the whole wizarding world. I needed a break.”

He had the grace to look a little embarrassed and smiled back at her. “Yeah, I did see about that. He’s a bloody tosser.” He looked up at her from beneath his lashes, and Hermione felt her heart skip a beat at the sincerity in them. “He never was good enough for you, you know?”

            “That’s where you’re wrong.” She shook her head. “I’m not too good for anyone. I’m just me.” She sighed. “We just didn’t fit together. We both wanted different things. He was trying to talk me out of my dreams, wanted me to continue on the mindlessly driven path toward being the youngest Minister of Magic, and I realized that it just wasn’t what I wanted anymore.”

            She fell silent for a moment. No, she and Ron had never been perfect. They’d fought a lot and had honestly spent more time nit-picking each other than loving each other. They were better off as friends, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t still hurt after everything Ron had hurled at her when he’d stopped by drunk after their breakup. He didn’t mean it, she knew, but for whatever reason, Draco’s comment stuck in her side like a thorn. Ron had said the same thing, that he’d never been good enough for her.

She took a fortifying breath and locked eyes with Malfoy. “I don’t do being vulnerable well, and especially not so with you, so bear with me.” She toyed with the napkin. “Ron was content to settle. He wanted to ride my coattails as I kept going, and I think that’s a lot of the reason we didn’t work. He didn’t have ambition. He wanted a life of Quidditch on the weekends and uninhibited sex as soon as I walked in the door from work.” She laughed at Malfoy’s shock. “Don’t get me wrong, the sex was fantas—”

“Eugh, Granger, that’s more than enough detail.” Malfoy shuddered across from her, and her laughter intensified.

“Right. Anyway, he was just content to let me do all the heavy lifting, and when I decided I didn’t want to anymore, things just fell apart. The last anniversary dinner—when we ended up all over the _Prophet_ —was the last straw. I’d had enough. I’d been talking about taking a position at Hogwarts should one ever open, and he kept pushing me to stay with the Ministry work. I realized then that it wasn’t ever going to work. That day, McGonagall owled to ask if I’d take the Charms position since Flitwick is retiring this year. I’d intended to tell him at dinner, but I just had enough.”

“So you ended it instead?” Malfoy guessed.

She nodded. “So I ended it instead. And what ended up on the cover of the _Prophet_ the next day was the end of the disastrous relationship and his coping mechanism of one of the witches from the Leaky.”

To her surprise, Malfoy nodded in sympathy. “So, your relationship fell apart because you weren’t content with being his sugar momma anymore. Respectable, Granger.”

Despite her intentions, Hermione felt herself laughing in shock at his statement. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she dabbed at them with her napkin, trying to avoid the devilish smirk that Draco shot her across the table. She matched it with one of her own in retaliation. “Well, if it helps, it wasn’t just that he was trying to live off all of my money. I haven’t had a decent shag in _years._ ”

Malfoy’s expression hardened, and Hermione knew that she was playing with fire. “Is that an invitation, Granger?” he ground out.

She shrugged at him innocently. “You started this last night, Malfoy. If you can’t keep up, then I’d be more than happy to find another willing participant. As you so aptly pointed out, I look rather good in this dress.”

Draco cleared his throat and took a sip of his water. “There will be no need to find any other willing participants. I think you’ll find that I’m up to the task.” He changed the subject before she could respond. “So, I’m talking to Hogwarts’ newest Charms professor. How interesting,” he mused. “I suppose now would be the perfect time to tell you that I’ll be working on restoring and revamping Hagrid’s hut at Hogwarts this fall, then?”

Hermione’s laughter ground to a sudden halt as she stared at Draco in disbelief. “Hagrid. As in _Rubeus Hagrid_ , the man you tormented when you were in Hogwarts and whose pet you had your father sentence to death?”

He looked down at his plate, colour blooming in his cheeks for the first time that evening. In a low voice, he answered, “I’m not proud of how much of a git I was when I was in Hogwarts. I’m trying to make up for it the best way that I know how. Starting with Hagrid.”

Against her better judgement, Hermione reached across the table and laid her hand over the top of his. His hands were soft, though she thought it shouldn’t surprise her since he’d always taken painstaking care of his appearance. She looked up at him briefly and saw that he’d locked his gaze on their hands, breathing in shallowly. She couldn’t make out the expression he wore as she squeezed once and released his hand. “It’s a start, and I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Hagrid has a big heart.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat, and the brief glimpse into this Draco was banished as his wall went right back up. “So, before we got side-tracked, you told me there were three reasons this wouldn’t work. I’ve heard one and two. What’s number three?”

Hermione shook herself from her preoccupation with their brief physical interaction. “Number three is respect. You have to be able to respect me, and let’s be honest; you’ve never respected me.”

Malfoy’s lips hardened into a thin line. “Now, I understand that I was a right arse as a kid, so I expect that for the way I treated you then. But I’ve treated you with nothing but respect since we’ve been together tonight.”

Hermione grimaced at his tone of voice. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was offended. “You have been remarkably well behaved tonight, but what’s one night compared to seven years?”

Across from her, Draco closed his eyes and hissed an exhale through his teeth. When he opened them, she could have sworn she saw regret and something else flicker through the grey depths before it was chased away.

Hermione started when Malfoy shoved his chair backward and stood. He buttoned his suit jacket and extended a hand toward her. “Well, if this is potentially the only date that I’ll ever get with you, you may as well dance with me. I promise I won’t bite; I’m not the ferret I once was.” He shot her a wink.

Hermione warred with herself as she stared at his hand. Though the rational side of her knew how bad he was for her, knew that she should turn his hand down and go home, the butterflies in her stomach pleaded with her to just take a chance.

Despite her better judgement, she took his hand. He led her a short way from the table and placed his other hand gently on the swell of her waist. She expected him to lead her in some complicated dance that he’d learned in his pureblood upbringing, but he swayed back and forth with her in a manner remarkably similar to the way she had danced with Viktor at the Yule Ball. Ever the gentleman, his hands stayed appropriately on her waist and in her hand.

She took a few moments to collect her thoughts before she spoke. She’d been defensive all night, expecting the other shoe to drop and the Draco she’d known at Hogwarts to emerge and tease her. Instead, he’d been honest and kind for most of the evening. She cringed inwardly when she realized that she was the one acting crassly when he’d been nothing but well-behaved all night.

She glanced up and found grey eyes peering at her. She froze momentarily, causing both of them to stumble in the dance. She could tell that Draco wanted to say something to tease her, but he bit it back. They rearrange themselves and Hermione slipped her hand from Draco’s to twine around his neck, inadvertently closing some of the gap between them as they swayed.

“I have a question,” Draco blurted suddenly as they swayed.

She waited a moment before she nodded. She’d been drilling him all evening; it was only fair that he got his chance.

“What do you want out of life? In a partner? You already said that you want someone who isn’t going to force you to stay in a job you hate. But what else do you want?” Draco murmured.

Hermione was taken aback. She didn’t think she’d ever been asked what she wanted in a relationship. Sure, she had some vague conversations with Ron about eventual marriages, but he’d never really asked her what she wanted in a partner. Both of them had assumed that the other was completely content with each other and had never stopped to ask.

“Well, that’s a difficult question,” she mused. “I’ve honestly never given it too much thought. After Ron, I didn’t want to get my hopes up about a relationship. I still don’t,” she added, having felt the minute tightening of Draco’s hands on her waist. “I suppose I want to be with someone who brings out the best in me, which is super vague and not helpful.”

She thought for a moment, and Malfoy allowed her the time to gather her thoughts. “I want to be with someone who challenges me, both intellectually and when I’m being stubborn, because I can be really stubborn.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Oh, really? Hermione Granger, stubborn? Could have fooled me.”

She swatted him lightly on the chest. “Obviously, I want to be with someone who takes the time to learn what I like. The gifts I like to receive, the food that I like on a bad day, what I like in bed—all that stuff. Ron was sweet, but he kind of existed on autopilot most of the time we were together. I want someone who I can be passionate with. It sounds cliché, but my mother always told me to find someone who stokes the flames of your passion. I want someone who sees that and isn’t afraid to burn with me.”

Draco nodded. “So, you want to be lovers and equals. You want someone who sees your passion and doesn’t run from it.”

She nodded, a bit at a loss for words at how easily he’d accepted her point. Her hand tightened on the back of his neck with her next confession, “I’m so tired of everyone treating me like I’m glass. I’m tired of vanilla. I want to burn, Draco.”

 A shudder ran through Draco, and he closed his eyes. “Honestly, Weasley was completely mental to let you go.” At some point, Hermione’s hand had crept back down Draco’s chest and into his hand, though their bodies remained close. He quickly spun her out and back into his chest.

“What do you mean?” she asked, breathless from the spin.

He met her eyes. “Do you have any idea how many of the boys at Hogwarts were absolutely enamoured with you? Probably not, you always had your nose in a book. And now, you’re absolutely beautiful and confident. You know what you want, and you seem like you’re not afraid to go and get it.”

Hermione shook her head. “See, I am though. Afraid to go for what I want. I had to wait until Ron made a complete mess of things before I admitted that I wasn’t happy in the relationship. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since then. I’m mostly just a mess of strong opinions and ink smears.”

“I see more than that. Those boys that were enamoured with you in school? I was one of them. I didn’t realize it until the Yule Ball, but I wanted to date you. I wanted you to know the me that wasn’t constantly sneering at everything, but I couldn’t because I still believed in that nonsense that my parents believed. Even if I hadn’t, I would have put you in danger.”

Hermione was shocked into silence at his confession. He pressed his advantage.

“You wanted to know why I asked you on a date tonight. I asked you because I’ve wanted to know you since we were children, and I was too selfish to stay away from you. So, I went out on a limb and came to your speed dating event; I muddled my way through three other dates, and finally mustered up the courage to at least rile you into coming out with me. If it took you thinking I was propositioning you, then that’s what I was going to do. I was banking on the fact that you don’t back away from a challenge.”

Hermione’s mind reeled. If what he was saying was true, then he came to the event with the express purpose of taking her on a date. Sure, he hadn’t been exactly honest about it, but she hadn’t given him much of a chance all evening to really romance her. She’d been all business and over-the-top sexual lioness tempting him all evening. Her face flushed with embarrassment. She hadn’t even realized they’d stopped dancing until he tilted her chin upward.

“Don’t. I wasn’t honest with you, so I probably deserved a lot of it.” He quirked a brow at her. “Although, I’ll tell you the truth; you’re incredibly sexy when you’re ruthlessly pursuing what you want. I’ll gladly give you tonight and go, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see where this went.”

She pulled her lip between her teeth to stop the groan of embarrassment from escaping. Suddenly, Draco’s fingers left her chin and freed the lip from her teeth. He resumed the dance, this time impossibly close, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You’ve really got to stop doing that with your lip. You have no idea what it does to me.” When he leaned away, his eyes flashed pewter, and Hermione felt her pulse quicken in response.

Would it be such a bad idea to see what would happen between the two of them? He was smart and devilishly handsome. He ran a charity, for Merlin’s sake, and he was willing to leave it at a one-night stand if she told him that’s all she wanted.

They continued dancing and spinning around each other, the physical manifestation of the thoughts circling round and round in Hermione’s head. The only argument her mind seemed capable of making was _but it’s Malfoy_. Suddenly, it seemed less and less like a bad idea and more and more appealing.

As the song slowed to an end, Draco spun her out once more. As she spun back into him, she realized that she’d slowly sunk into the dance, no longer apprehensive of his duality. On the final note of the song, Draco dipped her, and they stared into each other’s eyes panting. Time seemed to suspend around her. Heat flashed in his eyes as he whispered to her, “Let me be the one to touch your fire. Let me burn with you.”

In one fluid motion, Draco pulled her upright and into his chest, and Hermione crashed her lips into his. It was a hungry kiss, filled with the sexual tension that had been building between them as they flirted and traded innuendos all evening. They both got lost in the kiss, her hands fisting in his suit jacket, one of his on her waist and the other in her hair. It was only the clearing of their waiter’s throat that broke them apart. He stood to the side while they both rearranged their clothes. Draco promptly paid the check, and they rushed out into the chilly night air.

They’d barely made it ten feet out the doorway when Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her back into a searing kiss that made her head spin. Breaking the kiss for air, he breathlessly asked, “What now?” as he trailed kisses across her jawline.

Time suspended once more, and she found herself making a decision when he pulled back to look at her. “You’re coming home with me.”


	6. Inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: lemons ahead! Please be gentle; it's my first smut scene. Constructive reviews welcome. This chapter was inspired by the song Dark in My Imagination by of Verona. Listen to it for mood setting if you like!

They’d intended to apparate directly to Hermione’s flat, but neither of them seemed able to keep their hands off the other long enough to apparate properly, so they jumped several times across London, pausing each time to snog thoroughly.

       By the time Hermione had managed to get the lock open, their lips were swollen, and Hermione’s carefully cultivated curls were a halo around her head from Draco’s wandering hands. She discarded her bag by the front door, and he reached for her, but she shook her head. She wasn’t sure exactly what this night would entail, but she’d at least planned this far in advance. She quirked her finger at Draco and backed down the hallway to her bedroom.

            She’d always been proud of her flat, but she was nervous bringing Draco into her bedroom. It was modest, and she knew that he was used to the grandeur of Malfoy Manor. She needn’t have worried though, as he only had eyes for her.

            She motioned for him to follow her to the bed, and she stood up on tiptoes to press a searing kiss to his lips. They got lost in it for a few moments, and Hermione finally pulled back when he pulled her flush against him.

            Emboldened by the potion, she placed her palms on his chest and pushed firmly. Draco dropped into a seated position on the end of the bed and stared up at her hungrily. She backed away and murmured for him to stay where he was before she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

            On the counter lay one of the few extravagant purchases she’d ever made. She and Ginny had been helping Fleur search for a birthday present for Bill when she’d come across the lacy number. It was rather simple compared to all the other garments in the shop, but Hermione had known instantly that it was going to come home with her.

            Black lace trimmed the cups and sides of a black push up bra. Matching lace panties completed the ensemble, though Hermione had added a strappy garter belt from her own personal collection of items she’d purchased after kicking Ron out.

            She quickly stepped out of the dress and heels Draco had given her, making sure to hang the dress up so it wouldn’t wrinkle. She discarded the bra and underwear she’d worn that night for the lacy number that would make its debut for none other than Draco Malfoy. She completed the number with thigh-high stockings.

            She stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door in satisfaction. Paired with her smoky eye and the red lip, she felt sexier than she could ever recall feeling. After one more cursory glance at her reflection, she stepped back into the heels and gave herself a bolstering nod. Without giving herself the opportunity to overthink, she opened the door.

With a deep breath, Hermione strutted into the room, doing her best to portray a confidence that she wasn’t sure she felt. The clicks of the ridiculous heels she wore were muted as she stepped from the tiled bathroom floor to the lush cream carpet. She kept her gaze resolutely forward, refusing to meet the heated stare she could feel boring into her from the bed. She didn’t look up until she reached the centre of the room.

Draco’s gaze traced her body hungrily. He started at the tips of her toes, slowly tracing the line of her heels, the gentle curve of her calf, then slowly over the swell of her thighs and hips. His gaze paused at the apex of her thighs, and Hermione saw the tip of his tongue dart out and wet his lips, leaving them slightly parted. She fought the urge to rub her thighs together, desperate to relieve the tension she could feel persistent in the depths of her stomach.

Draco stood and made his way toward her slowly, drinking in her lingerie. His eyes traced the garter belt then up to the brazier she had donned. Hermione was more than pleased with how well it pushed her breasts up and outward, but his gaze lingered and she began to fidget, her hands rising slightly to smooth out non-existent wrinkles in the garter belt.

He motioned for her to stop and stepped forward, placing his hands on the swells of her hips. He licked his lips again, and this time Hermione allowed herself to rub her thighs together slightly. Draco inhaled sharply, his eyes darting to hers. What he saw in her eyes must have ignited the spark because his lids fluttered shut as he pulled her body flush against his. “You have no idea how absolutely fucking beautiful you are, do you?”

Hermione wasn’t given an opportunity to answer as he dipped his head low and nuzzled her neck. Hermione couldn’t stop the soft exhale that came out as a breathy moan. He continued his worship of her body as she melted into him, and he kissed a line up her neck until he reached just below her earlobe.

Hermione’s hands rose of their own accord, tracing up his arms where they rested on her hips until they tangled into his soft tresses as he bit down softly on her earlobe, eliciting a drawn-out gasp. Her grasp on his hair tightened, and she pulled him away from his attentions to her earlobe and locked him in a heated kiss.

Hermione lost herself in kissing him, revelling in the way his lips moved against hers. They had a chemistry that she’d never experienced before, each giving in to the other completely, following the other’s lead without hesitation. Where she led, Draco followed. She loved the way that he skimmed his hands all over her like he wanted to touch her everywhere at once. His hands settled low on her arse, and he squeezed lightly and moaned into her mouth. Hermione broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against his. Their breath gusted into the scant space between them.

“I take it that you approve?” Hermione joked. Draco answered with a groan and took her lips in another heated kiss. In the next moment, Draco used his grip on her arse to lift her up and wrapped her legs around his waist, then walked to the wall and gently pressed her against it, rocking into her. Hermione gasped when his hard length pressed against her core through the lace knickers she wore. He pressed the advantage and kissed her deeply. Though Hermione would have been content to kiss him all night long, she also knew distantly that he had a distinct advantage over her in her current state of undress.

Lowering her feet to the floor, despite Draco’s quiet sounds of distress, she pulled her hands from his hair and placed them on his chest, slowing their kiss to a heated crawl. They explored each other, learning each other again and again as Hermione’s hands slid up the lapels of his suit coat, slowly sliding underneath them until she pushed the jacket off him. It hit the floor in a crumpled mess, and she slowly began to work on the tie around Draco’s neck.

He pulled back just enough to peer down at her through hooded eyes. “This is a very expensive suit, Granger.”

Hermione had slipped the knot from the tie, slowly unravelling it as she met his gaze. Once untied, she left it looped over his neck and used it to pull him in once more, muttering against his lips, “Somehow, I doubt you’ll find it in you to mind.”

Though Draco tried to pull her in for another kiss, she pulled away and peppered kisses all over him. The corner of his lips, his jawline, his neck, wherever her lips could reach, she kissed. His spicy cologne enveloped her, and she inhaled it deeply, imprinting the scent in her nostrils, in her mind, for the memories she’d no doubt revisit of her night with Draco Malfoy. Slowly, she walked him backward until his knees met the edge of the bed and he was forced to sit. Hermione unravelled the tie from around his neck and began to work on the line of buttons on his oxford. Though she appreciated Draco’s fashion sense, she had to resist the temptation to tear through unbuttoning the expensive silk shirt. She worked her way downward, tiny button after tiny button, slowly exposing his chiselled chest and smattering of pale blonde chest hair that his finely-tailored clothes covered.

Hermione reached the last button, letting the shirt hang open as she admired the man before her. She’d never been one to base attraction solely on aesthetics, but she’d be damned if she allowed the man before her to slip through her fingers. Draco had leaned back on his elbows as she worked. His breath was shallow and quick, and Hermione noted the steely resolve in his features. Maintaining eye contact, she slowly reached forward and palmed him through his slacks.

Draco inhaled sharply, his hips jerking involuntarily into her touch. Hermione continued her exploration, palming him and rubbing lightly, noting the subtle changes in his breathing as her hand did something he must have particularly liked. He swore softly under his breath, and Hermione grinned to herself. She felt powerful; she was able to bring this beautiful man some satisfaction, and she was going to enjoy it. Ever so slowly, she ceased her ministrations and moved to the button of Draco’s slacks. He stilled as she popped the button free and slowly slid the zipper down, and Draco lifted his hips slightly, encouraging her and giving her easier access.

With more courage than she knew she possessed, Hermione slid the trousers down slowly, easing them over his arse as she watched his erection spring free of its confines. Though he’d teased her with the information of his lack of boxers or briefs, she couldn’t help the sharp inhale at finally seeing him.

Slowly, Hermione moved her hand from the zipper and wrapped it around his length, rolling her hand up once, twice, as he groaned above her and dropped his head back between his shoulder blades. She exhaled a laugh and her breath ghosted across the tip of him, causing goosebumps to break out on his thighs. She continued her slow pumping of his length as her other hand curled beneath him to cup his sack.

Draco’s head shot up and his eyes locked onto hers. He opened his mouth to say something when her tongue shot out and flicked at the bead of precum she had coaxed from his tip. Losing all composure, Draco’s hands dove into her hair as his eyes blazed with heat. Encouraged by his response, Hermione slid her tongue around the tip and nudged him into her mouth, suckling softly.

Draco’s breath hitched in his throat and he barely managed to utter, “Fuck.” Hermione smiled around his length and slowly began to bob her head up and down, flicking and swirling her tongue under and around him. Despite his effort to remain upright, Draco’s elbows gave out and he collapsed onto the bed with a satisfied moan, fingers delving deeper into her hair and guiding her.

Though she could have continued and brought him to climax with her mouth alone, Draco pulled her off his cock with a pop a few short minutes later. Despite her protests, he pulled her up from kneeling before him, so he could capture her lips once more. When he pulled away, the light in his eyes hollowed out the pit of her stomach. He placed a kiss on her forehead and said, “You can do that later. Any time you want to.” Hermione huffed out a laugh, but her breath caught when Draco’s fingers grazed over her stomach and slipped just below the band of her knickers. “For now,” he whispered, “I want to worship you.”

“Oh,” she uttered helplessly.

“Yeah,” he murmured, pulling her up on the bed with him. “First, I want to take these off.” The fingers of his other hand trailed over the lace of her knickers pulled taut across the globes of her arse. “Then, I’m going to lick that pretty little pussy of yours.” His fingers slipped further down, pausing when he reached her bare mound. His voice rumbled through her core when he said, “Hermione, did you shave just for me?”

She scoffed, though she wanted to moan at the gravel in his tone. “As if I would shave just for you. I’ll have you know—” her tirade ended on a moan as Draco’s fingers slipped further and his thumb brushed across the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. Her knees trembled at the contact, and the hand that wasn’t worshipping her most sensitive parts ventured downward and encouraged her legs further apart. She nearly collapsed as she felt the slight pressure of one of his digits slowly prod at her entrance. A strangled moan left her lips as he eased one finger into her and nipped lightly at her collarbone.

“What was that, Hermione?” he murmured in her ear. Hermione, however, was devoid of all logical responses as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of her while his thumb worked her clit.

She knew, somewhere deep in the logical part of her brain which she had thrown away the key to this evening, that she shouldn’t compare lovers, but she couldn’t help comparing this experience to that with Ron. Ron had been sweet and eager, but he hadn’t taken the time to work her up until she was panting and begging for more. Draco was touching her in all the right places, reading her body’s signals like a map and her orgasm was the treasure. He worked her slowly, no sign of rushing through her release to get to his own. His fingers plucked at all the right chords and he was a seasoned musician preparing his beloved instrument for the main performance.

Despite her original nerves, Hermione found herself comfortable with Draco. She felt sexy and wanted and _good_ about this experience. As Draco worked her up, she raised her head from where she’d dropped it against his neck, interrupting the number of sexy, dirty things he’d been whispering in her ear. Intimate eye contact had always seemed awkward to her, but she had never seen Draco so open and honest with his expression before. His panting matched her own, and she swore that she saw something lurking behind the lust in his eyes.

All too soon, he pulled his hand from her and Hermione groaned, so close to orgasm that she nearly cried at the loss of his touch. Draco, however, chuckled and kissed her once more, slowly lowering her back down to the bed. His gaze trailed over her body once more, and he slowly began to undress her, starting with her heels. He then moved to the garter belt, unclipping it and tossing it over his shoulder, eliciting a carefree giggle from her. He grinned crookedly at her and began to peel the stockings down her legs, smoothing his hand over her thighs with wonder.

It was in that moment that Hermione knew. She’d gone and given the man a chance and now he had her heart in the palm of his hand. She had to work to keep the sudden hammering of her heart from giving away her nerves as Draco eased the other stocking down her leg. Once both were off, he nestled between her thighs, looking up at her with a question in his eyes. She nodded shyly, and all other thought flew from her brain as Draco lowered his head and licked up her seam firmly.

Her back arched off the bed as Draco began to work her folds eagerly, licking with short, eager strokes first followed by long, torturously slow strokes with the broad side of his tongue. He stayed just shy of her clit, and Hermione rolled her hips, begging for more. He raised his head, grinning wickedly, before he reached up and placed one hand flat on her stomach, silently commanding her to stay still. She complied, but nearly shot off the bed when he lowered to her again and began to rapidly flick his tongue back and forth over her clit. The heat in her stomach was quickly building, and she couldn’t stop the string of incoherent moans that left her mouth. Desperate for more, she reached a hand below her and unclasped her bra, throwing it to the floor and then palming her breast.

The exquisite torture was heightened when one of Draco’s hands slipped downward and he slid first one finger and then a second inside her, slowly pumping as he worked her clit. In response, Hermione twisted her nipple lightly, moaning as the added sensation shot straight to her core. With a light suckling of her clit and the torturously slow pumping, Hermione’s orgasm crashed over her and drug her under with a moan of his name. It was the precipice of a roller coaster, better than achieving all Os on her NEWTs, and rivalled with the emotional release of a good book. Draco coaxed her through the orgasm, never stopping his attentions until she collapsed to the bed, legs trembling and her breath gusting out of her.

He sat up, looking rather pleased with himself as he slipped both fingers in his mouth, sucking them slowly as he maintained eye contact with her. She shuddered, and he grinned. Rolling his neck, he stretched out beside her on the bed and rubbed his finger along the bottom of her breast as his erection rested against her hip.

“You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself,” she accused, still catching her breath.

Draco smiled. “Well, it’s not every day that I get to make a beautiful witch moan my name while I lick her pretty little pussy, is it?”

Hermione shuddered, her core warming insistently despite its satisfaction mere moments before. “I don’t know how you do that,” she accused.

“Do what?” he asked innocently.

She rolled her eyes. “You know what.” Hermione waved her hand. “Get me off and then moments later have me ready to go again.”

His smile grew, and he rocked his erection into her. “I’m ready whenever you are, sweetheart.”

Hermione let her head drop back against the pillow as he leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. He rolled slightly so his torso rested half on hers and looked her in the eyes. “We don’t have to do anything else, you know. We can be done right now. Just say the word, and I’ll go take a cold shower and sleep on the couch.”

She shook her head and curled a hand around his neck. “You are absolutely mental if you think I’m done with you, Draco Malfoy. You got us into this mess, so if you want it to end then it’s going to have to be on your terms.”

A wicked grin lit up his features, and he dipped his head down to place a wet kiss just below her earlobe. His hand wandered back to her breast and he squeezed lightly as he whispered into her ear. “I’ve waited too damn long for this, Granger.”

Hermione lost her train of thought as he claimed her lips once more. She knew she should ask him what he meant about waiting for this, but she was far too captivated by the sensations he was eliciting from her body when his mouth dropped to worship her breasts. His tongue laved over one gently before he teased her nipple into a peak.

Draco’s weight shifted and suddenly he was everywhere again. Hermione could feel his length pressing against her leg and she moaned when he bit down on her nipple. Her hands delved into his hair, forcing his face back level with hers.

“I want you. Now,” she whispered, her potion-influenced conscience once again prompting her to say what she truly wanted. Staring into the depths of Draco’s eyes, she knew that this might be a mistake in the morning, but she wanted him, no matter the consequences.

Draco nodded and moved to reach for his wand, waving a contraception spell over her. He looked up at her and the fire in his eyes made her knees quake. He took his length in his hand and guided it slowly between her folds.

Hermione moaned at the contact, her legs falling open at the touch. Draco took his time, guiding his head up and down, sliding just shy of her clitoris before going back down again.

“Draco, please,” she pleaded, and he finally slowly slid his head into her entrance.

Both of their breaths hitched as they adjusted to the sensation. Draco’s head dropped to her shoulder as he paused, and Hermione could feel his breath gusting out against her neck. After a moment, he looked up at her. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the fire in his eyes had grown into an inferno.

“Move, Draco,” she urged, and he complied. He slid the rest of the way in and pulled back out, moving at a torturously slow speed to allow both of them the chance to get used to the feeling. Slowly, oh so slowly, he picked up his pace and Hermione groaned as he plunged into the depths of her.

He was careful not to be too rough with her, pinning her arms above her head and nipping her neck and collarbone. She writhed beneath him, gasping every time his pelvis ground into her. She could feel a second orgasm building, but Draco pulled out of her.

            “Wha—” she started, but Draco placed a finger to her lips. His weight still rested on top of her and her hands were still pinned above her head. Hermione ached to get him back inside her.

            Draco nipped at her collarbone once more and looked up at her with hooded eyes. “Just how adventurous are you, Granger?”

            Hermione was at a loss. She wasn’t sure what he considered adventurous, but she was fairly confident that he didn’t mean just sleeping with her best friend’s former enemy. Before she could process what she was going to say, Draco’s free hand snaked down her body and stroked her bundle of nerves. Through her groan of pleasure, she heard him say, “I want to watch you fall apart, Granger. But I don’t want to keep playing nice.”

            She fought the blush that rose to her cheeks at his words, lost in the pleasure he was wringing from her. “Gods, Draco, I want you to let me come.” Part of her was mortified that she was allowing him so much power over her, but she couldn’t help the fire racing through her veins at the thought of him dictating her orgasms. Before she could stop herself, she heard herself say, “I want you to fuck me.”

       Draco closed his eyes and groaned. “Thank fuck.” He looked at her. “Do you trust me?”

       Hermione blinked, momentarily thrown out of the moment. What a loaded question from the man who currently had her naked and begging for him. And yet, she trusted him implicitly in this moment. She nodded, and he quirked an eye at her. “Yes, I trust you. Merlin, please. I know you won’t hurt me.”

       He nodded jerkily and curled his hand around her waist, flipping her over. He snaked over her back and whispered in her ear, “Forgive me please, but I want you on your knees.”

       The words went straight to Hermione’s core, and she immediately obeyed. If anyone had told her the night before that a few sexy words from Draco Malfoy would have her on her knees with her arse in the air, she would have laughed in their face. Now, though, she was hanging on the edge, waiting for his next request.

She didn’t have to wait for his response long. Draco shifted until he was just behind her and slid his hands over the globes of her arse. She bit down on the breathy sigh that threatened to escape her lips as he spread his hands over the swells of her hips and rested in the valley of her waist. One of his hands left her, and, in one swift motion, he guided himself into her.

Hermione moaned and ground herself back onto him. He was deep, much deeper than he had been a moment before, and she ached for him to move. When he didn’t, she shifted against him to try to entice him to move, but instead, he leaned over her and peppered kisses up her spine. The hand that wasn’t resting on her waist slid over her hip and strummed her clit, earning him a throaty moan.

“You like that?” he rumbled against her, and she sighed breathily in response. “I can’t wait to feel your pussy clamp down on me.” His hand left her clit and Hermione groaned in protest. A moment later, he tweaked her nipple, twisting it lightly. He guided her upward until her back was flush against his chest. He pulled out of her just slightly and used her breast and waist as leverage to pull her back down onto him. The angle brushed against her most sensitive spot, and she writhed against him.

“What do you want, Hermione?” He growled, his voice impossibly deep.

She bit her lip, not sure if she should voice her thoughts. She’d never even asked Ron for what she wanted, sure that it was too much. But now, the way Draco was working her up, the way he was grinding slowly into her, playing her body so expertly, she was sure he already knew what she wanted. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I want you to choke me.”

Draco’s rhythm stuttered for just a moment, and he thrust into her with more force than he had before. “What was that?” he asked.

Hermione swallowed and steeled her nerves. “I want you to choke me,” she repeated, thankful again that the confidence potion helped to erase her nerves.

Seconds felt like an eternity before his hand slid up from her breast to gently squeeze around her throat. It wasn’t hard, but Hermione’s heart raced with excitement.

Draco took a moment to adjust his speed as he pumped into her, and she arched into him. When he squeezed a little more firmly on her neck, she moaned, and her eyes rolled back. She wasn’t sure if it was the combination of his touch and the sensual roll of his hips, but she’d never been so turned on before.

Their movements became synchronized; he thrusted, and she gyrated her hips, rubbing her sensitive bud with the hand that wasn’t tangled in his hair. When he released his hold on her neck, she protested, but it quickly wound its way into her hair.

What had been sensual and exploratory quickly became a mess of desperate limbs. His new handhold allowed Draco to arch Hermione’s back even further and his other pulled her back onto him as he pounded into her with every thrust. Both were breathless from exertion, and Hermione could feel the sweat beading on her forehead.

The familiar warmth of her impending release spread through her and Hermione quickened her pace on her clit. Draco must have sensed her urgency because he tightened his grip on her hair and forced her to look around at him.

The heat in his gaze drove to her very core. He smirked through his gusting breath and whispered, “I want you to come for me, Granger.” She moaned at his words, and he thrust into her again, jarring her whole body. “I can’t wait to feel you come all around me. You’re so fucking gorgeous just like that.”

Her orgasm crashed over her, and she cried out incoherently, a mix of curses and exaltations that included his name over and over. Draco drove into her relentlessly through it, and with a few more thrusts he finally buried himself deep within her as he came with a groan of her name.

They dropped to the bed with him still inside her, both panting. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt so thoroughly fucked, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever have another night like this. If tonight was what she had to compete with for the rest of her sex life, she was sure she’d be disappointed again and again.

Draco shifted next to her. To her surprise, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d expected him to be the type to shag and run. Despite what he’d said at the restaurant, he didn’t seem the type for pillow talk.

“I can hear the wheels turning in your head, Hermione.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder as he slipped slowly out of her.

“What is this, to you?”

His cocky smirk flashed at her in the darkness of her flat. “A bloody good shag?” She punched his arm where it crossed her abdomen. “Manners, Granger. Do we have to analyse it now? I think the overthinking part is supposed to come the next morning when you wake up and panic that I’m still in your bed.”

She nodded to herself but found that she wasn’t quite content with just leaving the evening at that. Before his eyes drifted shut, she found herself asking, “What did you mean when you said that you’d been waiting too long for this?”

Draco didn’t answer right away, so she assumed he’d fallen asleep. She studied his face for a few moments before she turned over to snuggle down into her pillow.

Just before she drifted to sleep, she felt him brush an errant curl off her forehead and whisper, “There was a reason Severus taught me Occlumency.”  


	7. The Sun Can Fuck Right Off

Hermione woke with a groan. Her head throbbed like a bad hangover, but even her slowly awakening conscience knew that she hadn’t indulged in much alcohol the night before. As she slowly regained her cognitive processes with the dawn of the sun, the night before became clear. She and Malfoy had— _oh dear._

Despite her embarrassment, she had to admit that she felt rather relaxed. Of course, it helped that she was still wrapped up in the cocoon of Draco’s embrace as he slumbered away behind her. His delicious warmth seeped into her and helped drive away the chill of her flat’s cooling charm, and she snuggled deeper into him. As her bum brushed across the apex of his thighs, she felt his grip around her waist tighten, and he grumbled something into her mess of curls.

Hermione laughed quietly and turned to face him. He relinquished his hold on her and threw the arm over his face, turning her quiet laughter into full-blown giggles.

“The sun can fuck right off,” Draco mumbled into the crook of his arm. When Hermione kept giggling, he uncovered one eye to glare at her. “You think that’s funny, do you?” She bit her lip and nodded.

The next moment, Hermione was flipped onto her back, and Draco was straddling her hips. “Do you know what Malfoy men do to women who laugh at them, Granger?” He quirked his brow imperiously at her. When she didn’t answer, he shifted his weight and moved his palms to her side where he gently clasped her ribcage. Her eyes widened in understanding as he cracked a merciless grin and said, “We tickle them.”

Draco dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her mercilessly. Despite her attempts to buck him off or pull his hands off her sides by the wrists, he wouldn’t budge. Soon both were breathless with laughter, and tears ran down Hermione’s cheeks. Though he was driving her spare with his tickling, Hermione briefly wondered at how open and free he looked in the morning light, his grin of glee stretched wide across his face as he tickled her. He was, in a word, beautiful.

Draco must have sensed that she was slightly distracted by his tickling because he paused for a moment and stared down at her. Her breath caught in her throat when the morning light spilled across his face, brightening his normally dark and guarded eyes. “Is it still funny?” he murmured. She shook her head and her grip on his wrists tightened minutely.

This time, Hermione wasn’t sure who broke the distance between them. One minute, she was staring up into his eyes breathlessly, and the next moment they were pressed together in a kiss that made her glad her panties were Merlin knew where. Draco shifted his weight and looked into her eyes before he moved to push into her. Just before he did, a whoosh sounded from the Floo and Harry’s voice echoed through the flat.

Draco groaned and dropped his head to Hermione’s forehead. Both of their breath whooshed out over the other’s face. “I hate him,” Draco groused. “Morning sex. He ruined morning sex.”

Hermione laughed and shifted out from under him. She was reaching for her shirt on the floor when her bedroom door banged open. With a yelp, she toppled to floor, spread eagled and butt naked in front of her best friend.

“Hermione, I have to ta— SWEET MERLIN WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?!” Harry shouted. If she wasn’t so embarrassed, she probably would have laughed at the way he flapped his arms about and smacked them into his glasses to cover his eyes. She tried valiantly to keep her blush in check, but it spread beyond her control. Draco, ever the gentleman, had used the sheets to cover himself and left Hermione exposed on the floor while her best friend babbled on in front of her.

To make matters worse, the door was pushed further inward, and Blaise Zabini poked his head around the doorframe. “I heard that there was a distinct lack of clothes in here and no one invited me.” His pout was interrupted by the widening of his eyes as he took in the very naked Hermione and sheet covered Draco in front of him. Hermione tried to cover her bits with her arms when Blaise cleared his throat. “Well, it looks like Theo is going to be washing my laundry for a month.” He looked over at Draco. “It’s about time this happened, mate.”

Hermione looked at Draco sharply. “What does he mean by that?”

Draco had the decency to look embarrassed. “Well, he’s my best friend. Remember how I told you that I was fascinated with you? He had to hear me talk about you all the time at Hogwarts. He knew before I ever had any idea.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and looked at Hermione, careful to keep his eyes above her shoulders. “He can be a right git sometimes, but his heart is usually in the right place. Though,” he eyed Draco pointedly. “Right now, he’s being quite a tosser because the girl he supposedly fancies is naked in front of two men, and he still hasn’t offered to either help her cover up or kick our arses.”

Draco seemed to shake his shock off and he pulled the comforter off and tossed it to Hermione, who quickly covered up.

“Is it safe to look now?” Harry whined, still covering his eyes.

“Yes, four-eyes, it’s safe to look,” Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry glared at him. “Forgive me for not wanting to violate my best friend’s privacy.”

Hermione broke into the conversation. “Hello, best friend here. No offense Harry, but you probably should have thought about that before you barged into my room so early in the morning.” She stood up and bunched the duvet around her like an oversized gown. “Can we reconvene in five minutes? You said there’s something you needed to talk about, and I’d prefer to talk to you while clothed.”

Harry nodded, two spots of crimson adorning his cheeks. “Right. We’ll be in the living room.”

He and Blaise backed out of the room, and Hermione leaned her head against her closet door with a groan. Draco came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. With a kiss on the shoulder, he asked, “You okay?”

Hermione turned in his arms to look up at him. How much more could change in twenty-four hours? She felt like she had whiplash. “I just wasn’t exactly prepared to tell him that we’re shagging, and I especially didn’t want him to find out by walking in on us naked.”

Draco frowned a bit but quickly covered it with a small laugh. “Well, it looks like it’s a little late for that now. What are you going to tell him?”

Hermione stared up at him, unsure what to say. The night before, she had been adamant that this was going to be a one-night thing. Now… now she’d spent all night with him, talking, laughing, and shagging until the wee hours of the morning, and she’d woken up with him in her bed. She hadn’t bolted like she had with all the other men she’d hooked up with after Ron. Instead, she’d looked forward to his sweet kisses and his sleepy voice greeting her in the morning. _Bugger_ , she thought. One good shag, a confession of a childhood crush, and she’d gone and caught feelings.

She looked at Draco. “What do you think we should tell him?”

Draco met her eyes. “Well, I’d like to kind of see where this might go?” It was more of a question than a statement, like he was seeking her permission.

The remaining potion in her system gave her no choice in trying to censor what she was thinking. “I’d really like to see where this goes. After last night, I don’t think I can be done with you just yet.”

Draco’s eyes widened, and he huffed out a laugh. “I could really get used to you being so open and honest about everything. Makes my job a lot easier.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Trust a Slytherin to take advantage of a potion-induced circumstance.” She pulled out of his embrace and threw his oxford at him. “Put some clothes on, you tosser. We have to go talk to our friends.”

She ducked into the bathroom and pulled her shirt over her breasts. She examined herself in the mirror and sighed a little. One night and she already looked more content than she had in a while. It unnerved her a little bit, but she tried to take it in stride. She needed to let loose, and Draco seemed to be in it for a while. They could figure it out together.

She emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, having dressed and glamoured the love bites on her neck and collarbone. She wasn’t sure why she bothered—Harry had already seen her in all her glory that morning—but she’d done it just the same. It made her feel better.

Draco wasn’t in the bedroom, so she left the room and found him and Blaise in conversation leaning against one of her bookshelves. Harry looked both uncomfortable and bursting with important news. Hermione looked at him expectantly.

“I think you said that you had something important to tell me earlier, Harry?” He stared back at her with wide eyes. For a moment, Hermione thought he might actually bolt out of her flat, but he shook his head and stood.

“Hermione, you’re my very best friend in the whole world.” He paused. “Well, you and Ron both are, but seeing as Ron is being a prat and shagging his way through half of England at the moment, you’re my very best friend, and he’s been relegated to number two.”

Blaise snickered next to Draco, and Hermione looked between the two of them. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on when Harry cut her off.

“You see, the thing is, Blaise and I have come to an understanding.”

Hermione looked between the two of them. “An understanding?”

“What Potter means to say is that we’re shagging now,” Blaise drawled. “It’s a recent development,” he added, winking at Hermione with his reference to their conversation during their speed date.

Hermione stared at Harry with her mouth agape. He shrugged at her and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve got to admit that he’s kind of hot.”

Blaise scoffed. “I am more than hot, you tosser. I am pure-bred Italian beauty. You’re lucky I let you in bed with me.” Despite the harshness of his words, Blaise looked at Harry with affection.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Okay. You guys are shagging. That’s okay.” She glanced at Harry, who looked unsure. She quickly crossed the room and hugged her best friend. “Harry, I’m happy as long as you’re happy. You’re my best friend; you have to know that!”

“I know. It’s just kind of new, you know?” Harry muttered.

“I know. Not any less new than me shagging and—” she glanced at Draco before she continued. “—potentially dating Draco Malfoy.” She refused to look at Draco as she talked to Harry. She wasn’t sure she could handle the smug smile on his face. His words from the previous evening rang in her ears. _Malfoys are very good at getting what they want. And I’ve wanted you for a very long time._

Harry glanced sceptically at Draco. In a stage whisper, he asked, “’Mione, are you sure? He’s kind of a git.”

Draco scoffed, and Hermione laughed. “We’re seeing where it goes. But he’s quite good in bed.” Draco puffed up his chest while Harry groaned.

“Hermione, I love you, but please don’t ever reference you, Malfoy, and sex in one sentence ever again. You might very well put me off sex forever.”

Blaise interrupted. “Granger, I’m afraid this is where I threaten bodily harm.”

Draco stepped up to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her waist once more. “Let’s just all promise never to talk about sex again with each other, and we’ll all die happy people, yes?” He planted a sweet kiss to the side of Hermione’s face.

Blaise rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose at the display in front of him, pretending to vomit into Hermione’s sink.

Harry chuckled and shoved him lightly. “Be nice, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch when we get back to my flat.” Blaise raised an eyebrow at Harry, and the bespectacled wizard quickly tried to back-pedal as his cheeks stained crimson and he pleaded for help from Hermione.

She laughed and held her hands up. “You’re on your own with this one.”

“That’s not— I meant—” Harry stuttered. “Be polite or you’ll be sleeping on the sofa, and I’ll kick you out to the mercy of all the women following you about."

“I’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual, you specky git,” Blaise drawled, peeling himself off the wall he had been leaning against. In two quick strides, he crossed the room and wrapped a hand around the back of the still stammering wizard’s neck and drew him in for a heated kiss.

Hermione and Draco managed to pull themselves away from Blaise and Harry’s blissful canoodling to grin at each other. Draco broke the awkward silence while they tried to give the two men some privacy. "It looks like they might be a while."

Hermione giggled and curled into his side. They enjoyed each other’s warmth as they ignored their friends snogging across from them. He shifted a bit more, so he could look down at her, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Did you mean what you said to Potter?”

Her eyebrows drew together, trying to remember what she’d said to Harry in the whirlwind of revelations that morning. “What part?”

Draco looked briefly uncomfortable before he rushed onward. “The bit about seeing where things go. Us dating.” He gestured between the two of them.

Hermione bit her lip, trying to figure out how to best phrase what she was thinking. In the end, she decided to just go with honesty. “I think so. I don’t know where it’s going. It might end up a total disaster. But I’d be lying if I said I wanted to you leave and never come back. The sex was  _way_ too good for that.” She grinned at him cheekily. “But yes, I mean it. Let’s see where this goes.”

Draco nodded, an uncharacteristically large smile spreading across his face. “Right, we’re seeing where this goes,  _girlfriend_.”

She laughed happily, leaning into him. “Look at all of us, breaking barriers and dating across houses. The other professors will never believe that not one, not two, but three new couples consist of Gryffindors and Slytherins.”

Draco looked puzzled. “Okay, I know about us. Potter and Zabini. Who else?”

Hermione looked up at him. “You won’t believe this.”

He looked down at their intertwined fingers. “Try me, Granger.”

“Neville Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson.”

Draco looked thunderstruck. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. I was shocked, but they left the speed date together. It looks like everyone is pairing off happily now."

“Yeah, but we ought to pry them apart before they die of asphyxiation.” Draco chuckled as the two men finally came up for air, Harry’s face several shades darker. He had, Hermione noted, finally stopped sputtering and stood blinking owlishly at Blaise. Hermione covered her mouth with one hand and squeezed Draco’s hand with the other to contain her laughter.

Harry finally tore his gaze away from Blaise and looked Hermione in the eyes. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“You know how I was more relieved than upset when Ginny broke up with me?” His gaze darted back and forth between her and Blaise, who looked calm and collected beside him. “Well, I think I’m gay.” Harry looked sheepishly down at the floor, then up at Blaise from beneath his lashes and huffed a laugh. “No, scratch that. I am  _definitely_ gay.”

Blaise’s face lit up with a wicked grin, and he wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. Hermione blinked, trying to get used to seeing Harry wrapped up in the embrace of a man. It’d take some time, but she was happy for Harry if he was happy.

Hermione smiled up at Harry. “Well, since you two so rudely interrupted our morning, you can help me cook breakfast, Harry.”

He groaned, but he shuffled into the kitchen and set about gathering ingredients for pancakes. Hermione looked at Draco and Blaise, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable standing about her flat with nothing to do. She took pity on their discomfort. “You two, just relax and talk or some rubbish. Or find a book to read.” She waved at the shelf full of books before she joined Harry in the kitchen.

It was nice, she decided, having others around the house on what was usually a lonely Saturday morning. She didn’t usually have company other than the  _Daily Prophet_ and a cup of tea. It was almost hard to believe that she’d been sitting on the very couch Blaise now sat on moping over her love life nearly two weeks ago.

While Harry manned the pancakes, she returned to her bedroom to clean up her mess from the past few days. She realized that she’d left her jeans from the speed date in a crumpled mess on the bathroom floor. When she picked them up, a small glass vial slipped out of the pocket and shattered on the floor.

“Oh, bugger,” she muttered and dropped to the floor to gather up the larger parts. She couldn’t believe she’d left an empty vial in her pocket, but she supposed she had been rather preoccupied recently.

As she picked up the larger pieces, she scolded herself for being so wrapped up in Draco that morning. She couldn’t believe that she was already acting like a lovesick teenager and cooking him breakfast after one night together. She even swore she could smell his cologne, though she knew he hadn’t used her bathroom to get dressed that morning and his cologne wasn’t in her flat.

She finished picking up the rest of the glass from the floor and reached under the vanity to retrieve the cork from where it had rolled. After stretching her arm as far as it would go, she finally retrieved it. She sat up and grabbed the rubbish bin, intending to throw it out with the glass when she spied the label stamped into the cork: Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

Her heart went into overdrive, and she froze. The vial hadn’t been empty; it had been full of the Amortentia fumes that she and George had bottled together. With frantic hands, she held the cork up to her nose desperately to try and confirm what she already thought. She could just barely make out smells where the fumes had seeped into the cork.

She didn’t immediately recognize any of the scents, so she inhaled deeply, trying to place them. Slowly, she could pick out three distinct smells. The first smelled like ink just before it dried on paper. The second smelled like spicy cologne, deep and masculine. The last was harder to place, but she recognized finally recognized it as the sharp scent of leather conditioner.

Hermione collapsed into a sitting position on the floor. One night. She’d been with Draco one night, and she was, if the potion was anything to go by, in love with him. She knew she’d been treading a dangerous line at dinner, but she hadn’t anticipated falling in love with him after some lovely words, a bloody good shag, and a night spent wrapped in his embrace.  _Bugger._

A few moments later, Harry tapped on the bathroom door. “Hermione? I’m ready for you to scramble the eggs. You okay in there?”

With shaking hands, she opened the door and yanked Harry into the bathroom. She flipped the lock and leaned against the door.

Harry studied her face. “Okay, what happened? You look like you accidentally walked in on Moaning Myrtle trying to hit on a firstie again.”

“It smelled like him, Harry.”

He looked puzzled, trying to place what she was talking about. His eyes widened when he spotted the cork and shattered glass in the top of her rubbish bin. “The Amortentia?” She nodded mutely, and Harry sputtered out a laugh.

Her jaw dropped open. “I’m sorry, but what exactly is funny about this situation?! I just found out I’m  _in love with Draco bloody Malfoy_  after one decent shag.”

Harry shook his head. “Hermione, I think you’ve been half in love with him for a while. I think you’re just now realizing it after going on a date with him and getting a good round in bed with him.”

She spluttered. “I have  _not_ been half in love with him!”

“Hermione, you keep a shoebox of articles about him on your bookshelf, and you used to watch him at Hogwarts. You were quite literally the only person to defend him when I was on a mission to catch him in his evil act. There’s nothing wrong with it. Just give it a go and see how it goes. What can it hurt?”

She stared at him aghast. When had her clueless best friend become so good at accepting what she hadn’t wanted to see was right in front of her this whole time? She dropped her head against the door with a groan.

“It’ll be okay. No one is saying it’s a done deal. People fall in and out of love all the time. Just look at Gin and me.” He shrugged. “If it helps, I think you’re a good match. He keeps you on your toes.”

Hermione looked at him. “Do you think I’m absolutely mental?”

Harry laughed. “Love makes us mental.”

She made a sound in the back of her throat in agreement. “I think I need a few minutes. I’ll be out soon.” Harry nodded and squeezed her shoulder as he slipped out the door. When she was alone, she took a fortifying breath. She’d faced man-hungry snakes, noseless dark wizards, and nights on the run. She could handle falling in love much too quickly with the beautiful blond prat.

She steeled herself and beelined straight to the kitchen where she took up her spatula and began scrambling eggs with a vengeance. She wouldn’t tell him yet. Oh, no way. He’d have to work for that. No way would she give him the satisfaction; his head was already big enough that she was surprised it fit in her flat. The thought made her chuckle.

It wasn’t until she heard a throat clearing while she transferred the eggs to a plate that Hermione realized that she’d been lost in her thoughts. Draco stood at the entrance of her kitchen with an old shoebox in his hands and a slightly puzzled expression on his face. He held up a handful of newspaper clippings at her—the newspaper clippings that largely featured his goings on since the  _Prophet_ had been reporting on him a few months prior. Heat rushed to Hermione’s cheeks as she laid the spatula down. Maybe she’d have to tell him sooner than she thought.

“So, Granger. It appears that you’ve been keeping tabs on me. Any particular reason why?” Draco drawled with a hint of mischief. His eyes glinted with barely concealed mirth.

She stared down at the floor before she responded. “Let me explain…”


	8. Epilogue - Back to Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the end of this fic, and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. Thank you for reading, and let me know what you thought in a review! xx ravenslight

***TWO YEARS LATER***

Hermione tore through her room, trying to ensure that the last of her stuff was packed away for the next few months while she and Draco were at Hogwarts. For the life of her, she could not find her briefcase, the most important belonging she needed for teaching. It had all her lesson plans, her back-up lesson plans, and the back-up lesson plans for her back-up plans. She wanted to be prepared.

"Draco, have you seen my briefcase? I'm supposed to be on the Hogwarts Express in twenty minutes, and I can't find it anywhere."

"The last time I saw it, we moved it off the counter so that we could shag on it," came his voice from her living room. She pulled on her other kitten heel and rushed out the bedroom door. True to his word, the briefcase rested against the side of the countertop. Draco stood by the door with both of their suitcases ready to go. He was, as usual, dressed impeccably. Hermione both loved and hated that he was so effortlessly beautiful.

She careened to a stop in front of him, and he kissed her cheek. "Good morning, love." He handed her a travel mug of her favourite coffee, made with cream and sugar just the way she liked it, and a bagel.

She took both from him after she shrank down their luggage to fit inside the beaded bag she still carried everywhere. "Have I told you today that I love you?"

Draco smiled at her as he followed her out the door of her flat and waved his wand to lock and ward the door. "You have, but it's always nice to hear it," he quipped, bending down to pick up the  _Daily Prophet_  on the doorstep. The heading read "Malfoy Renovations Set to Break Ground on New Hogwarts Memorial." He smirked at it. "Do you want to add this clipping to the box, too?"

She shoved him playfully and rolled her eyes. "You'll never let me forget that will you?"

He smiled at her as he took her hand. "Not a chance, love. Just like you'll never let me forget that you wouldn't take my last name," he teased. "Are you ready?"

Hermione exhaled a shaky laugh at his quick change of subject. "I'm going to vomit, but I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"You're going to be brilliant, Professor Granger. You always are." With a squeeze of her hand, he disapparated.

A moment later, they were hurrying through King's Cross Station to Platform 9 ¾. They looked both ways to ensure no Muggles were watching them, then walked through the barrier together.

The platform was bustling with students and parents waving goodbye to each other before the train left. Hermione smiled as she took in the scene before her. A wave of nostalgia passed over her when she spied a first-year giving her mother a tearful hug goodbye. Another student chattered happily to his friends about his new owl, while still others strolled hand in hand to board the train. Yes, some things had changed drastically in the last few years, but the excitement of a new year on Platform 9 ¾ never did.

Draco squeezed her hand again to get her attention. "Are you ready to go? The train will be leaving in a couple moments, and I need to be back to Hogwarts on time to meet with the investors for the next renovation project."

Hermione smiled at him. "Yeah, I'm ready to go."

Together, they approached the carriage for professors. As usual, she was the only professor on the train, but Hermione didn't mind. Both she and Draco enjoyed their rides on the train, and the secluded professor's carriage had given them the opportunity to act out some fantasies that both had long harboured.

As the train pulled out of the station, Hermione nestled into Draco's side and sighed contentedly. She was back for another year at Hogwarts, this time as a professor, and married to the wonderful man who set her soul on fire. All was well.

~FIN~


End file.
